


Sacrifice

by Nizhoni93



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Child Abuse, Core Four, Horror, Human Pennywise (IT), Hurt Bill, Hurt Eddie, Hurt Richie, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Protective Bill Denbrough, Protective Richie, Rape/Non-con Elements, Robert "Bob" Gray - Freeform, Scared Stan, Sexual Abuse, The Losers Club, Torture, Violence, hurt stan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nizhoni93/pseuds/Nizhoni93
Summary: "Bill likes to believe he has a hard shell, kind of like a turtle. In spite of Robert's cruel fixation with him, he hasn't cracked. He's come close though, plenty of times. But then he remembers he's not alone in this. There are his friends, who he knows he has to keep safe. They come first and foremost."In a lonely cellar, four boys are held captive and must fight for their lives against a sadistic child predator. A man they've come to know as, Mr. Robert Gray.A Pennywise Human AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N PLEASE READ: Hi readers, I'd just like to point out that this story is a Pennywise Human AU, meaning Pennywise's real name is Mr. Robert "Bob" Gray (as stated in the novel). It is based on the "IT" 2017 character portrayals. Also, this story is very DARK and will touch upon themes potential readers could find triggering including adult language, violence, child abuse, sexual abuse, rape (non-graphic) and torture. I do not wish to offend anyone with what I've written, and I hope you'll all heed my tags before proceeding. I don't normally write this kind of content, but I was rewatching "IT" the other night and the relationships between the core four really inspired the idea. Because this is currently a one-shot story, I've focused primarily on Bill, Richie, Eddie and Stan. However, there's a chance I may continue depending on how "Sacrifice," is received. So the other Losers could potentially show up in later chapters. Please let me know what you think by leaving a comment, giving a kudos and/or bookmarking. I really do appreciate the feedback and it'll help me determine whether or not to keep writing this. Thanks so much for reading guys!

Bill hears him first.

He wakes on the cellar floor, cold and stiff from his unsettled sleep when the footsteps echo in his ears. He sits up, suddenly alert and his attention shoots to the ceiling. With his chest pounding he follows the sound, watching for where the dust loosens from the rafters. Traces trickle down in murky grey path that's moving slowly but undoubtedly toward the cellar door.

Robert is back and he's on his way.

Bill wastes no time, as he shuffles feverishly across the floor to the first boy he can reach. Eddie is the closest to him, huddled against the wall with his knees pulled against his chest and his brows furrowed together. A hard line is cut between his eyes. It looks like he's having a nightmare and Bill almost doesn't wake him because no monster in Eddie's dreams is any comparison to the one awaiting him in the cellar.

But he places a sad, hesitant hand on Eddie's shoulder anyway, and shakes his friend awake, not wanting Robert to be the one to do it. When his eyes flutter open, Eddie knows right away. He whispers a quiet "no," and scrunches his eyes shut, blinking out tears.

Bill squeezes his shoulder and the smaller boy straightens up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He takes a deep breath and helps Bill with the others.

Eddie wakes Richie and Bill wakes Stan. After that, the four boys are left standing in a dank, dripping corner of the cellar. They wait in dread and with baited breath for the man upstairs. It's only a matter of time, a few more steps before they'll hear the squeal of the cellar door.

"Well fellas, least he can only butt fuck one of us at a time, am I right?"

"Don't!" Stan snaps at Richie. He's stood against the wall; the farthest back out of any of them. Bill has never seen him look so pale. "Just don't, okay Richie?"

Richie doesn't know what to say, so he just looks at Eddie. Bill catches him doing this often, and he notices that for someone as tall as Richie, he sure does lean on Eddie a lot. He thinks it's because Eddie is Richie's crutch. He needs him to function, for support and reassurance but most often then not, he needs Eddie to tell him when he's being a complete ass.

Eddie holds his stomach like he's hurting. With watery eyes, he shakes his head at Richie and mumbles "beep, beep."

Richie pierces his lips and lowers his gaze, feeling ashamed. Joking is how he copes. It's the only way he knows how to deal with any of this, but he forgets sometimes that he's not the only one suffering. Stan and Eddie still haven't been chosen yet. Though the threat is implicit. It's not a matter of  _will_  it happen, but  _when_ , and that thought alone is enough to render Stan a blithering wreck and send Eddie into another sick fit.

A creak resounds from atop the wooden steps and a sliver of light peaks through, broken by a looming shadow.

Stan is hiccupping beside him and Bill nudges his shoulder. When Stan turns to face him, he's a teary and snotty mess. Bill wants to say something, anything comforting but the words don't come. He settles with taking Stan's clammy hand in one of his, and Eddie's hand with the other. From Eddie's right, Richie also holds his hand and together they stand like an unbreakable chain.

Robert takes the first step, his steal-tow boots rasp against the ramshackle steps.

STEP. THUMP. CREAK.

Bill sneaks Richie a hard look from behind Eddie's shoulder, a thought passing between them.

 _I have to do something_.

Richie agrees. He nods.

STEP. THUMP. CREAK.

They watch as Robert slides his palm along the bannister, tapping his fingers with an almost tauntingly feathered touch. The gesture makes Bill hate him more. He knows those hands, every callused and sharp edge of them, and they've never been gentle.

STEP. THUMP. CREAK.

Robert descends from the final step, dancing on his toes and to their dismay he's not wearing his costume. Instead he wears a white collared shirt, unbuttoned against his bare chest and pair of kaki slacks. Without the showboat of clown makeup, he seems completely ordinary.

Of course they know it's just another trick. They've learned the hard ways that with Robert looks are deceiving.

With his gaunt cheeks and swollen, snake-lipped smile, Robert feels even more like a villain then his painted counterpart, Pennywise. Because Pennywise may be a deviant, he taunts the boys with news clippings of the other children, all the ones he's killed. He promises them they'll never see their families again. He entertains in the misery that besets them, chiselling at their souls and trying to tear them down with his mind games. But Robert Gray is depraved. He takes pleasure in making them squirm; in bruising them and in hearing them beg. He'll do just about anything to get the reaction he wants, and he'll do it with a smile.

When he comes to them as himself, they already know tonight will be horrible.

"My boys," Robert leers, breaking the silence with a voice that bubbles with excitement, "My beautiful, beautiful boys. I'm so sorry for not visiting these past few days." He brushes his wild, red hair from his face and takes a step toward them. They all stiffen. Robert doesn't fail to miss this. It enthuses him and he licks his lips as he trails his eyes across the line. He starts on a glaring Richie, and stops on Stan…too long on Stan.

Stan feels the man's eyes on him and he's losing it. Bill can sense it for himself. He squeezes Bill's hand so hard that he can actually feel his fingers going numb.

"Staaaanley." Robert rocks his head from shoulder to shoulder. A deceivingly sweet drawl dribbles from his lips. "Are you gonna' say hello?"

Stan gives a frantic shake of his head, "Yellow-billed cuckoo," he squeaks out. He pulls on his left ear, whispering a mantra they know all to well.

"Bay-breasted Warbler. Scarlett Tanager."

Where Richie has his jokes, Stan has his birds. He recites the ones he can remember from the bird book his father gave him when he was eight. Bill thinks it helps him escape. He imagines that he's back in the woods with his dad, the two of them spotting the birds together and definitely not here in the cellar where he's the only one being observed.

"Green-tailed Towee. Purple Finch. American Pipit."

"Look at me Stanley."

"Lark Sparrow."

The boys feel helpless watching as Stanley begins to crumble. Names spew from his mouth, one by one with barely a breath between them. He looks like he might vomit but the words get in the way.

"Ruby-crowned Kinglet."

"Bawk…"

They turn suddenly to find Robert with his hands tucked under his armpits, shaping his arms into wings, "bawk."

Stan twists his ear even harder and shakes his head once more, trying to jangle Robert's taunts from his mind. "Bu-barn…Swallow."

"BAWK!" Robert croons. It's loud and shrill and it startles all of them. "BAWK! BAWK!"

He flaps his makeshift wings, and yells, "What about a chicken Stanny. Ain't you ever seen a chicken before?"

Stan lets out a whimper, staring at the ground. Tears trickle off his chin. He doesn't look up even as the silence presses on and the weight of Robert's presence hammers down on him.

Bill's jaw tightens.  _Face him Stan. Come on, you have to face him._

"Northern wheat-"

Robert smiles wider, "cause I'm looking at a clucking little chicken right now." He steps closer and that's all it takes. Stanley doesn't mean to, but he breaks the chain. He stumbles back in a bid to distance himself and falls. Bill feels the tug of his weight as he hits the ground and watches woefully as his friend hugs himself on the floor.

His thoughts trail back _. Do something!_

Robert snickers as he begins to close the distance between them, "and here I thought you'd miss me."

Bill is next to break the chain. He let's go of Eddie's hand. Eddie is a second to late trying to pull him back, and before Bill can even think about what he's doing, he steps in front of Robert, blocking his path.

"I mu-missed yu-you, Mr. Gray." He's disgusted by his own words, humiliated, but he manages to say the right thing because for now Robert's attention turns on him. With curious eyes he looks Bill up and down. "Is that right?"

Bill gives a weak nod. "Did yu-you mu-miss me too?"

Robert reaches a hand up to him, and it takes everything inside of Bill, all his willpower to plant his feet and stay put. But he wants to run. _God_  he wants to run so badly.

"As a matter of fact..."

The man presses his palm on the side of Bill's face, rubbing the bud of his thumb over the dint in Bill's cheek, down onto his chin and back up over his lips. "I did."

Bill swallows, feeling his heart hammering back in his chest. He knows what the man wants and he parts his lips.

Robert smiles, pushing his thumb into Bill's mouth. Bill is contrite as he forces his brain to react, sucking the thumb in a way he remembers the man likes. He tries not to think about his friends, who are are watching and are just as disturbed as he is.

He knows Robert takes a particular pleasure in tormenting him in front of the others. The Losers look up to Bill, not because he's bossy or high-handed, but because he's loyal, and brave and fiercely protective of them in a way no other person, not even their own parents have ever been.

Robert doesn't like this.

He considers Bill a threat and to a degree, Bill supposes he is. He can't physically challenge Robert in any way, the man is double his size. But Bill is clever. He studies Robert on those horrible nights that he's forced to spend with him. By now he's gotten a pretty good understanding of how the man ticks and one thing is for certain, Robert feeds off the power. He does things and says things to try and belittle Bill all the time.

_"Big Bill?" The man pants in his ear. He has Bill's face pressed in the sheets, pushing him down by his hair. He can hardly breath. "I wonder what they'd think of you now."_

Bill likes to believe he has a hard shell, kind of like a turtle. In spite of Robert's cruel fixation with him, he hasn't cracked. He's come close though, plenty of times. But then he remembers he's not alone in this. There are his friends, who he knows he has to keep safe. They come first and foremost. He thinks he can use Robert's obsession to an advantage. No matter how messed up that might be, he'll have to be manipulative too. He doesn't want to lie down willingly, but he'll do what it takes to keep Robert from hurting one of his friends again.

He thinks of the first time Richie was taken instead of him. He tried to stop it.  _Damn it,_  he tried so hard. But Robert had been too strong, and Bill wasn't prepared. He watched Richie be dragged up those steps, kicking and screaming and he spent the entire night feeling every second of Richie's torture like it was his own.

He knows there's no way for him to change what's already happened, but he can try at least to keep the same thing from happening to Eddie and Stan. If he gives in and offers Robert everything he demands, if he allows this man to believe he's in complete control than Bill might have better chance of keeping the attention on himself.

"Takin' one for the team," is what his baseball coach would call it and he'd die for this team if he had to.

Robert takes his thumb out of Bill's mouth and pinches his chin. It feels warm, still wet with his saliva. "So eager to please, are we Billy Boy?"

He hates the way Robert talks down to him like he's enjoying this, like Bill's doing this for any other reason besides protecting those he cares for. Bill narrows his eyes, "Yes," he mutters through clenched teeth. "I-I want to go with yu-you."

"Well then," Robert grins at him. He squeezes Bill's chin harder, "I want to hear that again, like you mean it."

Bill wishes he could spit in the man's face, watch as his big yellow loogie dribbles down Robert's filthy sweat beaded forehead. He swallows, "Pu-please...ta-take me-

"Bill don't!"

He's interrupted before he can finish. He follows the voice, catching Richie's gaze from behind his coke bottle glasses. There's something so completely desperate there. "Don't do it."

Bill shakes his head, and snaps back. "Sh-shut it, Rich."

"You're Big Bill," Richie states, his voice firm and impassioned. "We know that. We know you can do anything...but not this. That doesn't mean you have to do this."

Bill's heart swells in his chest, coursing steaming blood through his veins. He's so damn angry with Richie right now. This isn't his job, why doesn't he understand that? Bill's the leader. He's the one who's supposed to protect them. It doesn't go both ways. 

 _Richie, you have to let this happen!_  Hot tears well in Bill eyes. "Fucking beep, beep you idiot!"

Richie ignores him and steps forward.

_Oh no._

"Hey Fuckwad!"

Robert drops his hand from Bill's chin. He tilts his head, eerily slow toward the glass-eyed boy with amusement and his lips quirk up. "What was that Richie?"

Richie stands his ground, clenching his fists. He could almost pass for intimidating, if his hands weren't shaking at his sides, and his eyes weren't so swollen under his lenses. "If you're going to take anyone here, it uh...it might as well be the only one who has a big enough dick to handle it."

Richie is tugged back into place and for someone as small as Eddie he actually manages to pull Richie behind him. "What - are - you - doing?" Eddie gasps, his chest rises and falls with laboured breaths.

"Let me go Eds!"

"Stop it!" Eddie begs him, "Richie, you can't...not again-"

Tears stream down Eddie's face.

For a moment, Richie forgets he's being watched. With soft, concerned eyes, he places his hands on Eddie's face and gives him a gentle shake, "Eddie come on, please breath man."

It's a mistake, a huge fucking mistake. Bill catches Robert's eyes flit with delight and his heart plummets straight into his stomach because now more than ever, Robert has the upper hand. There's only one other thing he loves more than having power and that's collecting leverage.

Richie has just revealed his biggest weakness to a predator.

Bill sees what's coming next, and he grabs for Robert's arm before he can advance. Robert turns fast on his heels and backhands Bill across the face. The sound is piercing and echoes through the cellar with a  _SNAP!_ Bill falls to the floor with a dull thud. He lands beside Stan. His head spins. Stan crawls to his side, and pats his nose with a hesitant touch. His fingertips are red with Bill's blood, "Your nu-nose Bill...it's broken." Bill knocks his hand away. He has no time to worry about himself right now. With unsteady legs, he stumbles back to his feet.

...

Richie sees it coming to late. He looks up when he hears the slap, and suddenly Robert is only two feet away from them and Bill is on the floor. He pushes Eddie into the corner and lunges. He catches Robert around the torso, but the man is like a cement wall. He doesn't budge.

"He's certainly cute Richie and so wonderfully fragile." Robert grabs a handful of Richie's hair and yanks him upright. Richie hisses as Robert twists his grip and pulls his head back so they are cheek to cheek. "You think you can fix him, don't you?" He presses his chapped lips to Richie's ear and hisses hot breath as he whispers, "Not after I break him."

A growl of rage rips from Richie's throat and he jumps up, kicking off of the wall and sending them both careening backward.

Robert staggers, and missteps. They fall to the floor, and for a split second, Robert's grip on him loosens. Richie rolls sideways. He's on his hands and knees, crawling for freedom when Robert's hand tightens over his ankle. He's tugged back so fast; Richie completely flattens onto his stomach. The man drags Richie down till he's straddling him from behind, keeping him still between his knees.

"Get off me you fucking demon Carrot Top!"

Robert laughs, "You're funny Richie, so so funny." He grabs Richie's hand and pins his arms against his back. "Always with the jokes. Always entertaining. You sure do like a good show, don't you?" Richie doesn't like the inflection in his voice. He struggles even harder, especially when he hears Robert rifling through his pockets. When he catches sight of the man over his shoulder, there's a zip tie ready in his hand. "I know Eddie and I could put on greaaaat show for you."

The hairs on Richie's body stand upright. _No! No! No!_ How did this happen? He was only trying to help Bill, and now he's made everything worse. A hundred fucking times worse! It was supposed to be him. Not Stan. Not Bill. Not Eddie.  _Please god...not Eddie._

Robert loops the zip tie around his wrists and finishes tightening it just before a flying force bulldozes into him. The man is sent tumbling off of Richie and onto the cement. It takes a moment for Richie to register what's happened and with dumbstruck eyes he realizes it's Bill. He's on top of Robert, and he's bringing down punches, left and right as fast as his skinny limbs can pummel.

"That's it Bill!" Richie encourages. Red drips from Bill's nose, and Richie's not sure if the blood that's on Robert's face is his friend's or the man's. He prays for the latter. "Beat that mother fuckers ass!"

The feeling of triumph is short lived. Robert is only thrown for a moment before everything takes a terrible turn. Robert's hand shoots forth and he catches Bill's clenched fist in his palm. It lands there with a residual  _CLAP._  There's a second of silence. Bill stares down at the man, eyes wide and stricken. Robert smiles.

_Oh shit..._

Bill tries to pull free but it's no use. Robert twists his hand in a violent and sudden gesture and the boy cries out. Robert's other hand shoots up and captures his throat silencing him.

"No!" Richie shouts, he pulls against the tie binding his wrists, but it doesn't loosen and he's waggling on the floor like a useless fish out of water.

Robert flips them over, so he's towering on top of Bill.

He simpers. "When are you going to learn?" Saliva drips from Robert's mouth as he leans his face close to Bill's, and squeezes his neck tighter. "There's no use in fighting me Billy Boy. You won't save them."

Bill kicks out. His eyes are bloodshot and full of tears. He's turning red, the same colour of Robert's hair; strands shroud over his face in a crimson veil.

Richie is helpless.

Like a superhero in yellow shorts, Eddie appears out of nowhere. He dashes past Richie and throws himself onto Robert's back. "Let go of him you asshole!" He's a determined little spitfire as he claws his fingers across the man's face.

A laugh of utter disbelief escapes Richie,  _fragile my ass_. Richie wishes he could take Robert's words, shove them down the bastard's throat and watch him choke on them till he's dead. Never underestimate the Spaghetti Man.

Of course he's terrified seeing Eddie, _his Eddie_  fending Robert off, but now's not the time to be selfish with his friends. Bill needs help and Eddie is all he has. Eddie and Stan.

_Wait. Where the hell is Stan?_

Richie turns his head and finds Stanley still trembling on the floor. Still crying where he sits. He can't believe this.

"Stan get up and help them, NOW!"

Stan covers his ears, and closes his eyes. He rocks back and forth, shaking his head.

"Stan! We need you!"

Eddie yelps, and Richie whips his head back around. Robert is on his feet. He has Eddie by the arm, dangling him up so that his sneakers barely kiss the ground. Bill lies at Robert's feet, a boot planted on his chest. The man steps down hard, pushing all his weight into Bill with a crushing force. Bill let's out a horrible, strangled wheeze. His flailing hands claw at Robert's leg, frantically attempting to push him off.

Eddie swings his leg and his foot catches Robert's hip. The man sighs, as though dealing with a pesky fly, and he delivers a merciless punch to the small boy's face. The force sends Eddie's head whipping back and his eyes roll skyward.

Richie sees fire. "You son of a bitch! You fucking piece of shit!"

"These little acts of defiance are really starting to bore me."

Robert lifts his foot off of Bill's chest. Bill heaves, gasping and coughing. He's finally able to breath. Robert throws Eddie's limp body behind him and Eddie lands like dead weight onto the cement floor. Richie flinches when he does. Robert turns his attention back to Bill. He lifts his leg and kicks the toe of his boot into Bill's ribs. Bill cries out again, rolling across the floor and clutching his side.

"Stop it! Stop hurting him!"

Robert delivers another kick. "I like you so much better like this." He kicks. "Those pretty blue eyes blooming with bruises." He kicks. "That perfect pink skin painted in red."

"Stop you sicko!" Richie shouts with a raging desperation. "You're going to kill him!"

Robert Gray stops short of his next kick. He rests his foot back on the ground and peers down to the bloodied, crumpled mess at his feet. "Kill him?" A dark, dreadful chuckle escapes the man's lips. "I wouldn't dream..."

He pushes a foot into Bill's side and rolls the boy onto his stomach.

"Bill!" Richie calls out to him; he squirms on the floor and peers over to his battered friend. "Bill buddy, you in there?"

"Rrr-Rich...arrrrg!" Bill groans, as Robert climbs on top of him. He grabs Bill's hands and twists them behind him. He reaches in his pocket, pulling out another zip tie and fastens it around Bill's wrists.

"We still need an audience for our BIG SHOW!"

The man stands and takes Bill's arm, dragging him across the room. He drops Bill in front of Stanley and pulls out another zip tie. Stan finally looks up. He meets Robert eyes with a faraway gaze that so completely shattered that the man doesn't even bother. Robert winks at him and places the zip tie back in his pocket. He comes for Richie next, sauntering over and does the same, dropping him on the floor beside his friends. They huddle together. Richie feels Bill's hand slip back into his.

In a quiet corner across the room, Eddie stirs. A weak moan escapes his lips.

"It looks like our little star is up," Robert chuckles at Richie. His lips rise in a vile smirk that slices all the way across his face. Thin scratches bleed down his forehead and frame his feral eyes. He's a complete, and total monster.

Richie breaks when Robert strides across the room, straight for Eddie. Heavy, hitching sobs twist in his stomach and tear apart his throat. He knows this is his fault and there's no amount of begging, no snap backs, or clever insults that can stop Robert from doing every horrible thing imaginable to his best friend...the only boy he loves.

Eddie starts screaming and Richie shuts his eyes.  _"I'm sorry Eds. I'm so fucking sorry."_

 


	2. Eddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! I was absolutely blown away by the response this story received on the first chapter and I just want to thank everyone for the continued support. As promised here is the second chapter. I'd like to warn you all that the story will only get darker from here, so once again I ask PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE heed the tags. Though never explicit, the following chapter does get more graphic than the last and therefore I am posing a major trigger warning for sexual abuse/rape. I always love to hear what you guys think, so please let me know by leaving a comment and thank you for any kudos and bookmarks :-) Here we go!

Eddie has never been more scared in his life.

 _Actually no—_ that felt like way to grave an understatement to describe this, because Eddie is scared of a lot of things. Like using public restrooms, or shaking hands with strangers, or having to sit on the lap of that creepy guy who plays Santa at the mall every Christmas. Oh, and let's not forget the most obvious of all, _Henry - Fucking - Bowers._

Though even Henry, with his menacing mullet and knife threats seems like small beans when compared to Robert Gray, who fill's Eddie with a kind of terror so beyond anything he's ever experienced.

What he feels now, it is immeasurable.

He is stripped and splayed on the cement floor exactly how Robert wants him. A fist in his hair and nails dug deep, piercing into the soreness of his hip. Wet lips dance across his bare shoulder and Eddie shivers as the man presses his nose into the nape of his neck. Robert inhales, loud and pleased as he jerks Eddie's his head in the direction of the others. They can't see him,  _thank god_. They've shut their eyes in a daring act of defiance and he's grateful, because at least they won't witness what comes next. He can't live with knowing they were forced to watch.

He looks between them. All three.

There's Bill... _Big Bill,_ his oldest friend in the world. He looks so unlike himself, a mess of the boy Eddie considers their leader. His face is broken and his ego is bruised. It hurts Eddie simply by looking at him. He fought so hard and sacrificed so much for them. Though, for Robert it's never been enough and Bill has always had to give more than the rest. Eddie will never be able to make that up to him.

He looks to Stan, by far the most affable of them all. He is cowered numbly behind Bill and Richie and Eddie thinks, Stan has never done anything to deserve this. His record is clean, spotless actually. The perfect son, if there ever was one. Stan eats his vegetables with no fuss, he makes straight A's and he visits his bubbie every weekend at the nursing home without being asked. Not just that, Stan has always been willing to stand for what's right. Right now, he doesn't look like he can stand for anything, even if he tried.

And Richie,  _god_  Richie might be the actual death of him, because the boy he is looking at now is such a far cry from the boy he knows.

Richie laughs louder and more obnoxiously then any person Eddie has ever met. " _Who cares if people are staring Eds! What does it matter?_ " It didn't matter. It doesn't matter. Eddie knows that now. He embarrasses the hell out of Eddie, calling him by those infuriating nicknames, all " _Ed's_ " and " _Eddie-Spaghetti_ " and " _Spaghetti Man_ ," goading Eddie till he's snapping at Richie to " _Stop calling me that! You know I hate that!_ " Richie cracks lame jokes in terrible accents that only Eddie seems to understand. It has the other Losers looking to him for translation and it makes him feel special, like he and Richie share their own secret language.

He knows Richie Tozier better than anyone else does on this entire planet, and it feels strange to see the regularly snappy and go-lucky spirit of his best friend escaping him in tears.

"Please just let him go! For fuck sake Mr. Gray, I'll do anything!" He pleads for Eddie's sake, drowning the room in sobs that resound between the concrete walls in an amalgam of noise full of misery and sadness, and in a way so unlike Richie that it breaks Eddie's heart to watch.

This is wrong, all of it. It's like they're trapped in some kind of bizarro nightmarish reality where nothing is as it should be. Each of them, in one way or another has lost a piece of themselves here in the cellar.

Eddie wonders what he'll lose.

"Eddie..." He hears Bill sputter, "Eddie, I-I..." He loses his words, filling the space between their heartbeats with a doleful silence.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat. "I know," he manages to pipe out, even with the weight of Robert's body pressing into his. They did what they could, by protecting him for as long as they could, and Eddie knows that.

Richie snivels and when Eddie looks back over, he lifts his head almost like he wants to stare back. Richie's eyes sway behind his closed lids in a frantic manner that threaten to open and catch Eddie's gaze. Though he won't risk it. He scrunches his lids tighter, forcing out new tears. He doesn't look, but he listens and that is all Eddie needs.

He doesn't care that Robert will hear him. He takes a deep breath and shouts aloud, "THIS —IS—NOT—YOUR—FAULT!"

It's meant for all of them but his eyes remain on Richie. He hopes his voice will follow, because more than anything he needs Richie to understand that he doesn't blame him for what's about to happen.

Robert smacks his head powerfully into the dull cement and Eddie grunts. For a moment he's lost in the haze, and he's guided back only after the earsplitting ring has dulled in his ears. He blinks the floating dots out of his vision and squirms beneath Robert.

The man clicks his tongue scoldingly, "Oh Eddie, it's really not very nice to lie to your friends."

A sizzling flame of fury sparks inside him. "Shut up!" Eddie screeches back, and he's honestly not sure where this newfound boldness is coming from or how long it will stand, but he refuses to allow Robert to use him as a means of getting inside their heads. "You don't matter! None of this does. Nothing you say matters!"

With a demanding strength, Robert pushes Eddie's face into the floor, and keeps him there. Eddie has no where else to turn. His eyes flit about the cold, flat surface beneath him. His mind works a million maddening miles a minute, as he takes in the stained and grime speckled ground that he's laid upon. A sick, twisty stomach feeling begins to build inside him.

For a moment he wonders _, "is this floor really as filthy as it looks?"_ And then he's mentally chastising himself, thinking, " _Priorities Kaspbrak! Y_ _ou've got bigger fucking problems right now!"_

Robert Gray has him pinned down, ready to do god knows what. Yet all Eddie can think about is his bare skin and all the questionable things that are probably seeping into his pores at this very moment.

Robert slides his palm with a slow and invading pressure, up and down Eddie's leg and then he hugs Eddie under his stomach. Goosebumps pucker on Eddie's skin, a reminder of the real danger at hand. "Don't!" he gasps, trying to stay calm and failing terribly the moment Robert wanders lower. His heart races. "Please...please, just don't touch me!" He tries to push the man's hand away and Robert seizes his wrist, squeezing tightly.

"Don't you do that again," Robert warns him, darkly and with a voice like venom. Eddie whimpers and Robert let's go. His hand drops back into place and he doesn't dare try a second time.

It happens when Robert Gray touches him  _there;_  that is when Eddie's loses all his resolve and with it, any fleeting remnants of his innocence and childhood. He presses his forehead against the concrete, shuts his eyes and cries as Robert uses him. The man gropes Eddie, pumping his large hand between the boy's legs, in rhythmic strokes that somehow have Eddie's body betraying itself. Eddie feels a tickling energy collecting in his stomach, and pulsing its way to his crotch. It's a familiar and yet completely foreign feeling, because he's only ever done this by himself, and while locked in the privacy of his bedroom.

Though, even those times felt wrong. When trying what he could to keep his thoughts focused on the painted up women in his mother's Cosmo magazine, their supposed sexy tits and long legs and lipstick did nothing for him. Eddie would always find himself tossing the magazine across the room, because,  _why even bother?_  He knew exactly where, or more specifically  _who_ his thoughts would end up on.

Eddie Kaspbrak loses himself always, to dark curls that never get brushed and brown eyes that sparkle behind glasses that catch the sun. And to thin lips that are shaped like pink candy - and that Eddie thinks would taste wonderfully sweet if they weren't always spouting that sour sense of humour.

He can't believe Robert can elicit the same physical reaction in him that his fantasies for Richie can, even while against his own will. He is so utterly disgusted by it all. He tells himself that they're not the same, and that he doesn't want this. Except with each torturous stroke Eddie is being drawn to his tipping point, much like those times in his bedroom. It has him questioning himself and the feelings he harbours for his best friend, which now feel impure and perverse.

His body starts to spasm, filling him with a heated pressure that aches to be released. He will never forgive himself for what he knows is going to happen.

"Be a good boy," Robert murmurs to him sickly sweet, "stop trying to fight it." The worse part is, he can't fight. Not anymore. Eddie groans, pounding his fist into the ground, as Robert finishes him with a final insistent squeeze. He cums in the man's hand feeling dirty and ashamed, wondering if he'll ever be clean again.

"You're shaking," Robert teases him, relishing in the response Eddie is giving him. He continues to rub Eddie through the aftershock of his orgasm, eliciting more sharp tremors through his small body. He's so painfully sensitive right now, he can barely stand Robert's continued abuse.

"Pu-please...just stop."

"Oh but we can't stop now," Robert says, in a virulent voice that drips with lust, "you're doing so well!" He pauses his strokes, and Eddie gasps at the release. He listens unwillingly as the man brings the abusing hand to his own lips. Robert licks his fingers and moans, "hmmm, tasty tasty."

Eddie wishes a black hole would open up and swallows him whole - just end it for him right then and there. He is sick to his stomach, fighting the bile that churns inside him and threatens to spew. He doesn't think he can take much more. He's been humiliated and violated worse than he ever imagined. He's unsure how Robert can make this any worse for him, but he's certain the man will find a way.

"You got what you wanted!" Eddie chokes out, his entires body is wracked by sobs, "Wha-what more is there for yu-you to take?"

Robert laughs, a low and menacing laugh as he tightens his grip in Eddie's hair, and forces him to once again face the corner where his friends are huddled.

"They won't even look at you," Robert whispers tauntingly and when Eddie looks again, he sees the anguish and defeat stricken upon each of their faces. He knows in that moment, this punishment was never intended to be just for him.

"If they won't look..." Robert lifts his weight for a moment to rest his right knee between Eddie's thighs and forces his legs apart. "We're just going to have to make a louder impression!"

He hears Robert unzipping himself and the realization of what's about to happen sends a new wave of terror surging through Eddie. It's like ice cold blood coursing through his veins. He suspected this is what Robert had planned all along, but the actual reality of his predicament becomes all to much for Eddie to handle. He's not strong like his friends. He won't be able to survive this!

"NO!" Eddie screams, bucking beneath Robert. He struggles, as hard as he can, kicks his heels up, and swears, desperatly and angrily at the man on top of him. "Stop! You can't fucking do this!"

Robert quietly chortles in amusement, "So strong for such a little thing." He leans back down to drag his mouth over Eddie's skin and nips at Eddie's ear, "Any other surprises?"

The panic is all consuming and it tightens inside of Eddie's lungs. He pants in and out in short, laboured spouts of air that have him trembling where he lays. A painful pressure gathers between his ears. He thinks he might pass out, a big part of him hopes he does. Though of course, he's never been that lucky. Robert readies himself, and for the first time in a long time, Eddie can only comprehend one thing,  _"I need my inhaler!"_

_..._

_It was the same day of Georgie's eighth birthday. Eddie had been at Keene's pharmacy that morning, trying to choose a birthday card for the party. He actually spent ten whole minutes looking over the greeting card wrack, and taking in the lack of fuzzy and feathered little characters in his $1.00 price range. Finally he settled for blue pop up card with a smiling purple duck on the cover._

_" **Have a Quacking Birthday - Feather Brain** "_

_Okay, so maybe it wasn't the best greeting, but it wasn't like he had a whole lot of options to work with here. Between the sparkly kitten cards and that strange, googly-eyed chimpanzee, it felt like he made the right decision. Besides, kids liked ducks, right? And Georgie liked sailing, so Eddie supposed the aquatic bird was a good mascot in this case._

_He'd already accepted that the card would also be from Richie, considering the knucklehead never seemed to remember to bring his own. When he walked up to the counter ready to pay, Mr. Keene reminded him that his refills were ready to pick up. So Eddie waited while the man retreated to the back room to go retrieve them. Greta, Mr. Keene's daughter, was sitting behind the counter smacking her chewing gum and darting her eyes between the pages of a "TEENAGE!" magazine. She was in the same grade as Eddie and had a reputation as a "bag girl" bully around their school. Though thankfully, she'd never really paid him much interest, and the two only ever interacted a few times back in sixth grade. It was when she'd annoyingly decided against Bill's will that she had a crush on him, and that he was her boyfriend now._

_Yes, those were her exact words._

_Of course Bill Denbrough was to polite for his own good. It still surprised Eddie that he'd had enough patience to deal with Greta following him around for a full two weeks. Heck, he might have even married Greta one day, had she not decided to call Richie out on wearing the same "tacky" Hawaiian shirt to much, and "don't you ever wash your clothes Tozier?"_

_The first thing to understand is that Richie and his parents had encountered a wallop of financial setbacks that year. His dad Wentworth was laid off from his position at the Foundry, and his mother Maggie had been working long hours at the Derry Grocer just to make ends meet. Even still, with all her extra shifts the Tozier's were barely scraping by. So it wasn't uncommon for Richie to spend his nights with the Denbrough's whenever his family couldn't pay their bills._

_Though, sometimes Richie's pride and embarrassment overruled his better judgement. He didn't always tell his friends when the water was suddenly turned off in his home, or if the power went out, or even when he hadn't eaten much of anything in the past few days. It often took them noticing the tell tale signs, like catching Richie napping in class, or picking the scraps from their lunches or god forbid, wearing the same shirt four days in a row, for him to finally accept their help._

_The second thing to understand is that no one, not even the meanest girl in school (and his girlfriend...kinda?) could get away with treating Bill Denbrough's friends like shit._

_Greta's comment was the bottom brick pulled from an already crumbling foundation and it was enough to make Bill's resolve finally come tumbling down. He turned on his heels, pointed his finger right into Greta's chubby face, and shouted loud enough for the entire school yard to hear, "Greta Keene, you are the worst person I've ever met! Stay away from me and my friends, for good!"_

_Just like that Greta's clingy crush on Bill had come to a very abrupt halt and thankfully with it, all the elaborate ploys to insert herself into his life. There were no more flirty classroom gazes, or air kisses in the hallways or secret love notes shaped like hearts and other cute little things being found in Bill's desk. And thankfully it wasn't just Bill who dropped off her radar. Following their not so smooth and anything but mutual break up, Greta Keene had avoided the entire club of Loser's all together._

_In fact, for much of eighth grade they were practically invisible to her._

_Which was why Eddie was so completely surprised to find Greta staring over the service counter right at him._

_He glanced around quickly, just to make sure Greta wasn't staring at someone behind him. Since no one was in sight, he turned around and found her eyes still trained in his direction. The magazine she'd been reading was now abandoned in her lap. She crossed her arms, tilted her head and smiled._

_"Hi?" Eddie said nervously. He hadn't had much experience with other girls besides Beverly, and this one was...well she was just downright freaky._

_"Eli right?"_

_"Uh...Eddie, actually."_

_Greta waved her hand dismissively, "right, whatever. Sorry." She blew another rubbery pink bubble and popped it between her teeth. "You know what's fun about having a daddy who owns a pharmacy Eli?" Greta chewed with her mouth open, loudly and messily._

_"Wha-what?" Eddie questioned, feeling strange that the two were even having this conversation, and also noticing a dollop of spit pinched in the corners of Greta's lips_

_Gross._

_"I get to hear about all the crazy, disgusting, weird shit the people of Derry like to keep secret!"_

_Eddie tensed. He had the faintest suspicion that there was hidden implication in what she might be saying to him. Though weary to play along with what was obviously a very fun game for Greta, he couldn't shake the nagging curiosity inside him. He found himself leaning in. His chest pressed over the breadth of the counter and he whispered hesitantly, "like what?"_

_Wow!" She answered with mischievous laugh that tickled in the girl's throat. "You really have no clue, do you?"_

_Greta Keene was more than alighted to inform Eddie Kaspbrak that his entire life had been a lie up until that very moment. Because, his so called medication was in fact "bullshit,"and that Eddie was not sickly by any means. It was all a ruse, a twisted ploy of his mother's making. A way to keep Eddie nipping at her heals like a scared and lost little puppy. For thirteen long years she'd kept the deceit going; training him by the hour by filling his mind with false tales and peppering his insides with gazeboes! Eddie being the naive and perfectly obedient son that he was, had never suspected for a second that his mother whom he loved more than anyone else in the world, could actually betray him like that._

_He'd been so angry and so beyond any kind of reasoning when he'd confronted her that afternoon. What's worse is she never even tried to deny it. Instead she just pummelled him with a whole new string of assurances, "they help you Eddie bear!"_

_All he could think to do was look for an escape. In a frantic haste he stuffed only the bare essentials into his school bag (his toothbrush, a pack of Oreos and a change of underwear). He stormed straight out his front door, away from the prison he'd called home for thirteen long years, and still with his mother's desperate calls chasing after him._

_"Eddddie! Don't do this to me Eddie!"_

_He ran, as fast as he could to Bill's house, where he knew his friends would already be. He told them the whole story and together they watched as he flushed those ill-prescribed pills down the bathroom toilet, ceremonial style with Richie playing air trumpet in the background. Eddie had never felt more empowered and so completely relieved to be free of those red and white capsules that were as heavy as anchors and working to weigh him down his whole life._

_Though he hadn't completely ridden himself of his mother's deception. There was still her biggest lie to address. That being, his inhaler._

_He'd barely gone a full day without using it since he was first "diagnosed" with asthma eight years ago. He was only five then, and he'd kept the dispenser safely zipped against his little waste ever since. After all those years, the inhaler felt like a part of him and now he had no idea how to detach himself from the little hunk of plastic or his utter reliance for it._

_He was scared - of making a huge mistake - of having another asthma attack - of dying alone in some ditch without his inhaler - because he'd foolishly thrown it away - just because he was angry - and now he was getting what he deserved - since he should have never run away - and now, oh god now his tombstone was going to read something so completely embarrassing: " **Here lies Eddie Kaspbrak. He should have listened to his mommy.** "_

_"Eddie!"_

_Eddie startled back to his senses, to find his friends waiting on him expectantly. They were in Bill's back yard, stood by the white picket fence that separated the Denbrough home from a dense patch of thorn bushes and poison thistle on the other end. They learned that one year, when Georgie had thrown his favourite plush toy, a turtle named Maturin, over the top of the fence and they'd unwittingly jumped over to retrieve it. Despite his ordeal, Maturin was relatively unscathed. Though the same could not be said for Eddie, or the others._

_When he got home, Eddie had barely made it through the front door before being hustled back out again and carted straight to the emergency room. It didn't matter that he'd tried to explain to his mother that the marks were only poison thistle and no, he hadn't caught a viral infection from those "dirty little friends of his." She kept him home from school for almost an entire month before the principal finally called, and she'd been forced to send him back._

_..._

_So there he stood, staring up at the fence with his small orange fanny pack still clenched in his hand and his inhaler zipped securely inside. Eddie squeezed the bag tighter and shook his head as he turned to the others._

_"Guys, I don't think I can do this."_

_Bill and Stan glanced between each other, neither certain about pushing him._

_"Yu-you already took a big sta-step today, with the pu-pills," Bill said, trying to sound supportive._

_"Yeah," Stan chimed in, "Maybe...umm, maybe you don't have to tackle everything all at once."_

_This should have made Eddie happy._

_With their blessing, he could go on just as he always had, traversing the safe and steady path he was so used to. He wouldn't have to worry about making the wrong decision. Not as long as he could still hold onto his inhaler. Eventually when he felt right and ready, that's when he'd finally get rid of it._

_Problem was, Eddie didn't think he'd ever be ready and apparently neither did Richie._

_"You gotta be shitting me with this right now." From behind his magnified glasses, his eyes were big and boggling. "Am I the only one here who hasn't forgotten that Eds' doesn't actually have asthma?" He barrelled his way between Stan and Bill, poking his finger into Eddie's shoulder, "You are getting rid of it TODAY."_

_Eddie stared up at him, eyes narrowed and cheeks burning with anger. "You don't get it!" He snapped back. He couldn't believe Richie all people couldn't understand his hesitation. "This isn't like the pills okay, I...I need this."_

_"No, you don't need it Eds. You never did. That's why we're all here isn't it? So why the hell are you still holding onto that inhaler like it's your fucking life line?"_

_He flexed his grip and opened his fingers, staring down at the pack that rested there in his swelling palm, "I'm not."_

_"You were, actually."_

_Eddie shook his head defiantly._

_Eddie..." He spoke with a gentle fondness that dissolved the anger in an instant and somehow calmed the beat of Eddie's unsteady heart. "I get why you're scared, but that inhaler, it doesn't define you. Only you can do that."_

_Eddie felt his heart skip at Richie's words. The moment only lasted a split second before he was right back to being an ass all over again._

_"So listen ere' mate-"_

_"Oh no!" Eddie groaned,"Not the British Guy, please."_

_"Oi hush now! You know you love it." He stepped forward, placing his hands on Eddie's shoulders, "I say this for yur own good, and because em' two wankers don't 'ave the bullocks to hurt your feelings-_

_"Hey!" Stan interjected, "Wait...what did he call us?"_

_Richie laughed, "Don't go hurtn' yur brain Staniel, ole' chap." He dropped the accent and turned back to Eddie. With one hand he pushed his glasses onto his forehead so he could look at Eddie, really and truly look at him. His gaze felt penetrative as he stared hard into Eddie uncertain eyes. "If you don't do this today, your mom wins. She'll never consider you anything but her weak little..." He stopped again, to make grabby fingers at Eddie, pitching is voice higher to sound like a decrepit old woman, "Eddddie Bear."_

_Eddie gave a frustrated huff, slapping Richie's hands away. "My mom doesn't sound like that."_

_"Yeah well, we can agree to disagree on that one." He pointed at the fanny pack, "as long as you have that inhaler, she can keep using it to control you."_

_Eddie's stomach curled at the thought, "I'm not weak."_

_"Look," Richie stated, "You don't have to tell me that, I'm not the one who needs convincing here."_

_Bill spoke next. "I ca-can't believe I'm su-saying this," he came back to stand beside Richie in support, "bu-but, Richie mu-might actually have a pu-point." He elbowed Richie endearingly in the side, and smiled at Eddie. It was soft smile. The kind that filled Eddie with tender sort of confidence, like Bill already knew he was going to be alright. "You're rrr-really a lot st-stronger than yu-you give yourself cr-credit."_

_Richie threw his hands up in the air, and rolled his eyes in exasperation, "Now he says something!"_

_The corners of Eddie's lip rose, marring his expression with a nervous and shy smirk, "You think so?"_

_"We know so," Stan added. He too stepped forward, nodding at Eddie assuredly. "We should have just said it from the start."_

_Eddie glanced between the fence and his friends._

_"The real question is..." Richie bent his knees and crouched, meeting Eddie's lowered and anxious gaze from beneath his darkened lashes. "Do you know it?"_

_..._

_Eddie knew it._

_"Chuck it!" Richie shouted. He grinned an apple cheeked grin, so full of excitement and gusto, "Do it Eds!"_

_Eddie licked his lips, stepped back and trained his arm behind him, angling for the perfect throw._

_"CHUCK IT! CHUCK IT! CHUCK IT!" His friends joined in, pumping their wild fists into the air with a chorus of chants. Emboldened by their roaring encouragements, and with their voices drowning out any lingering doubt in his mind, Eddie Kaspbrak threw his fanny pack away. It rolled in the air and fell back to earth, disappearing somewhere behind the fence where it would remain, forgotten and forever guarded by the poison shrubbery behind Bill's house._

_When all was said and done, the others were quick to crowd him, slapping him on the back and ruffling his hair like three annoyingly proud friends would. Richie through an arm over his shoulder and mimicked the voice of a 1930's radio jockey, "Eddie Kaspbrak has just done the unthinkable! That's right folks, he threw that inhaler right into the stratosphere, and boy did that puppy fly!" He stuck an invisible microphone under Eddie's chin, "So tell us Eds, how did it feel?"_

_"Don't call me that," Eddie said pushing himself free from Richie's hold. He giggled as he straightened his tousled curls. "But I'll admit, that did feel pretty great."_

_"There you have it! Straight from the source, you heard it here first ladies and germs. Eddie Kaspbrak is a changed man!"_

_"Richie!" Stan groaned, "Will you put a lid on it already? You're giving me a headache."_

_"Oh well in that case, Doctor Tozier recommends the only cure for a headache—a healthy dose of vitamin R."_

_"That's not a thing."_

_"Of course it is, bend that cute little rump over the picnic table and I'll give you your first injection."_

_"Fuck you, your disgusting."_

_"Alright gu-guys, come th-that's enough," Bill chuckled, putting a temporary lapse in their banter and capturing back their attention. "The pa-party is at one, and I ta-told my mmm-mum that we'd help with the decorations."_

_"Do you always put your friends to work Bill?"_

_"Only the one's who decide to sh-sh-show up fff-four hours bu-before the damn pa-party Rrr-Richie."_

_"When are the others getting here?" Stan asked curiously._

_"Mike's gonna finish su-su-some chores around the fff-farm, but he'll bike over when he's done. And Bev said her aunt wa-will drop her off later tu-tonight." He didn't skip a beat as he continued. "There's su-some streamers in the kitchen..."_

_The three remaining friends exchanged a quick look, catching on Bill's abrupt change of subject. They crossed their arms and with expectant stares, they waited stubbornly for Bill to drop the charade and stop avoiding the obvious._

_He swallowed under their scrutinous gazes, "Su-so we better get st-started then..."_

_"Bill—" Eddie tried._

_"Stan and Richie ca-can work on th-the st-streamers—"_

_"Bill—" implored Stan._

_"Eddie and I ca-can wrr-work on the ta-tables."_

_"BILL!" They all shouted and that finally caught him. Bill fell silent, tensing his jaw and sighing through his nostrils with frustration. "I du-don't know if he's cu-coming, okay."_

_"Well did you invite him?" Richie asked annoyed._

_"Of course I did. He doesn't wa-wa-want to sss-see me."_

_"This is dumb," Stan added bitterly, "Why can't you two just talk about it."_

_"Well Wh-what do you th-think I've been tr-trying to do Stan!"_

_Eddie sighed, walking over and placing his hand on Bill's arm. When Bill looked a him, something was vacant in his eyes, and Eddie had the sneaking suspicion it had everything to do with him missing Ben._

_"He'll come around," Eddie said encouragingly. "Ben's never been one to hold a grudge. And besides, it was just a play. S'not like you and Bev kissed for real."_

_Bill's gaze fell and he seemed suddenly interested in kicking the dirt at his toes. "Uhh, yeah st-stage kiss...th-that's all it wa-was."_

_"Boys!" Bill's mother called from the back porch. She was stumbling on her toes, holding a big box of party hats and noise makers, "I could really use your help here!"_

_Bill slipped Eddie a sad glance before rushing off to help his mom. Richie huffed wistfully, coming to stand beside Eddie, "Think they'll patch things up?_

_Eddie nodded, turning to Richie, "They're best friends. They have to."_

_"Not every friendship is as perfect as ours Eds."_

_Eddie choked out a laugh, "We're far from perfect."_

_"I beg to differ. As far as ideal friendships go, we're right up there with Turner and Hooch."_

_"You know one of them is a dog right?"_

_Richie smiled, patting Eddie on the head condescendingly, "and you're such a smart wittle boy for figuring that out. Yes you are! Yes you are!"_

_Eddie rolled his eyes. He reached up and caught Richie's hand. Richie laughed, making a move to tug himself free but Eddie held on. Their smiles faltered and their clasped hands fell into the space between them. Richie swallowed, "Eds...?"_

_Eddie had no idea what he was doing. He rubbed Richie's knuckles with his thumb, they were rough and knobby but in a way that felt familiar and unique to Richie. Eddie liked the feeling. He wanted to hold Richie's hand every day, from now into eternity._

_Eddie's mouth felt dry as sand paper, "Thank you." He looked up and Richie was staring back, eyes nervous and curious at the same time. "I really needed that." His heart was warm as he spoke, "You kinda saved me today."_

_Richie's breath hitched in his throat. He squeezed Eddie's hand and smirked shyly. Eddie could swear there was a flush to Richie's cheeks, and he wondered what that could mean. "Eddie, you always had it in you."_

_"I know, but you saw it in me first."_

_They were interrupted as Stan cleared his throat, coming up behind them with a box of streamers. "Hey there love birds! Can you stop flirting for like five minutes to help us with the decorations?"_

_Eddie dropped his hand from Richie's, feeling mortified. He was going to murder Stan._

_"There are some balloons in the kitchen. Think you two can handle that?"_

_Dead and buried Stan. Dead and buried._

_Richie sighed and called over his shoulder, "Aye, aye Captain!" He winked at Eddie and they headed off. But not before Stan spared Eddie a final, "You're in love with that?" look, as Richie made a show of cartwheeling into the house before him. Richie headed straight for the balloons, shovelling deflated bags of balloons into his arms just as Mrs. Denbrough entered from the hallway._

_"Oh Richie sweat heart, please don't use those all up. We'll need to save a few for the clown."_

_The bags slapped back to the floor, falling from Richie's arms in an instant. His face went pale. "Clown? Du-did you say clown?"_

_"Yes dear, we hired a clown." Sharon Denbrough grinned, clapping her hands together excitedly, "Penny...something. Oh, I'm sure the kids will love him."_

_She walked out of the sliding back doors, off to set the paper plates and leaving the two of them standing alone in the kitchen._

_Eddie spared Richie a concerning look, "You alright Rich?"_

_"No one said anything about a fucking clown," Richie grumbled, bending down to salvage the pile of balloons he had dropped on the floor._

_Eddie frowned, bending down beside him to help. Richie's hands trembled and Eddie didn't hesitate as he placed his hand over Richie's. "It's okay," he said quietly. Richie closed his eyes, breathing deep. "It's okay Rich."_

_A moment or two passed between them and when Richie finally opened his eyes, they were full of tears. He gave Eddie a shaken smirk, and shook his head embarrassed. "I'm sorry..."_

_"Hey" Eddie said, solemn and softly; he smiled at Richie, picking their hands up from on the floor, to press Richie's palm against his chest, "I'll keep you safe."_


	3. The Aftermath: Stan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this chapter a while now, and I'm finally posting it. Hope you enjoy!

It's the kind of sound that shakes Stanley to his core—a cacophony of painful, jarring pleas that collect in Eddie's throat and transform violently into a fit of lasting screams. Strangely, they remind Stan of fireworks; like a blaring compendium of frantic sparks, whistling and colliding in the sky, only to erupt in a tumultuous shower seconds later.

He remembers something just then, something he'd rather forget. Sharp blue eyes shooting daggers right at him and a word that sifts listlessly through the blind fog of his thoughts. That word punctures a small piece of his soul.

 _Coward_.

The memory bleeds into place.

…

_In hindsight, taking a short cut through the woods alone may not have been one of Stanley's best ideas. In the pitch-black of night, he tried to make sense of the route to Mike's, but his nerves were starting to prove problematic in the dark. The brittle rustle of leaves, and the whine of dead pines, paired like the disgruntled call of a lurking tree monster. Obviously, Stan was too old to believe in those sorts of things, they were just not empirically possible. Though, that didn't stop him from checking over his shoulder every few steps—just to make certain he wasn't being followed._

_He wished he hadn't left home in such haste, practically hightailing his way out the front door before thinking to grab a flashlight; but he wanted to escape the barbecue before his parents had time to change their minds. It was the Fourth of July and his father Donald was hosting for the entire synagogue. Picture that—a backyard crammed full of Derry's entire Jewish congregation. It was about as fun as one might expect, and Stan had wanted nothing more than to ditch the whole affair and spend the day goofing off with the Losers._

_Unfortunately being the only son of the Rabbi meant he needed to uphold a certain level of responsibility. Not only was it customary for him to make an appearance, but he also had to make a good impression. This usually meant he'd spend a great deal of the night, standing compliantly at his father's side, being carted from one picnic table to the next, shaking hands with a bunch of clammy palmed adults that felt the need to prod at Stanley any chance they could get._

_"You are such a handsome boy," Mrs. Shepard, an elderly woman who reeked of mothballs and peppermint, had cooed for the third time that evening. She had onset Dementia, and Stanley was trying hard not to squirm as she reached her fingers toward him and snagged his cheek yet again in her surprisingly iron-vice grip. The bowtie Stan wore around his neck was too tight, chafing red into his delicate skin. Even still, he raised his chin to meet the lady who insisted so pressingly to hold his cheek hostage. He couldn't do much else, not when his father stood beside him, his palm cupped securely atop Stan's shoulder._

_Thankfully, his mother came to his rescue. She'd been observing him throughout the night, and had noticed his discomfort mounting with every passing minute. Even with a charming smile, evenly plastered on his face, Stanley could do little to shadow his feelings when it came to his mother. To her he was an open book, and the story she was reading was a sad one. She took him by the arm and jimmied him free of the old woman's hold. "Stanley sweetheart," she whispered discreetly in his ear, "go call Bill. See if they've left."_

_Stan hesitated, looking between his parents, uncertain of what to do. His dad took notice, and his expression twisted into a frown. He tugged Stan against him and excused himself with Mrs. Shepard. He leaned into his wife, "Andrea, what do you think you're doing?" His tone was riddled with umbrage, "We've discussed this, and he's staying right here—_

_"Donald, can't you see he's miserable. It's the Fourth of July. He should be spending tonight with his friends, not a bunch of old busy bodies." She gave Stanley a wink and he smiled small, grateful to have his mother in his corner. "There's no sense in arguing with me darling," and she crossed her arms, signalling that her mind was made up. His parents stared into each other for a few stressed moments before his father eventually relented._

_He huffed, rubbing his temples and nodding curtly. "Fine then," His attention spun to Stanley, and his eyes were dangerously stern as he muttered, "behave." Then he returned to his guests, leaving Stanley and his mother alone._

_"Don't worry about him," she said, pinching Stan's nose playfully and giving it a small waggle, "just have fun." Stanley kissed her on the cheek, making a mental note to thank her later, as he scurried into the house to call the others._

_It was Richie who picked up on the third ring, "Denbrough Taxidermy—you hack it, we pack it."_

_"Does Mrs. Denbrough know you're answering the phone like that?"_

_"Let's just say Mrs. D and me, we're on a need to know basis right now." Stan could hear the rowdy commotion of the others in the background. "Still on lockdown?"_

_Stan answered excitedly, "Not anymore." He loosened his bowtie and threw it across the room._

_"So does this mean you're a free man, Uris?"_

_He ruffled the his well-kempt hair, "As free as I'll ever be."_

_"Good thing too. We had a whole undercover sting planned, just to get you out of there." He paused as if contemplating something, "how do you think I'd look in a yarmulke?"_

_"Is that St-Stan?" Bill's muffled voice broke through the receiver. "Let me ta-talk to him."_

_Bev was singing in the background, "Tell him I miss him!"_

_"Stan!" he heard Ben shout aloud, "STAN THE MAN!"_

_"I'm surprised you guys are even still around," Stan said._

_"We couldn't leave because Billium was on diaper duty—_

_"Heeeeey!" Georgie whined, "I don't wear diapers!"_

_"His folks are back now though, so we're leaving in half a jiff. Think you can sceeedaddle your tochus over here?"_

_Stan thought about it. The plan had always been to meet at Bill's and head to Mike's together. Mike's granddad owned a large patch of farmland on the outskirts of Derry that wasn't regulated by the town's ordinance against fireworks. Since the old man was a sucker for all things bright and sparky, he'd gathered a haul of illegal explosives for the seven friends to shoot off on his property. The group had been looking forward to it all week. From what Stan could make out, they were all bustling to get there fast. Probably because they knew that their parents would murder them if they ever found out what the kids were up to. They had to leave before the adults started asking questions._

_Problem was, it took thirty minutes to bike to Bill's, and would take another hour for them all to bike to Mike's. The night was already off to a late start as is, and Stan figured if he walked the short cut through the Barrens, he might arrive at the farm at the same time as the others. He explained this to Richie and after discussing with the Losers they all agreed on the new plan._

_"Okay," Richie said, "I've stolen Eddie's stopwatch—“_

_"Richie, I'm serious my mom will kill me if you break that!"_

_"Relax Eds." His tone deepened into that of a surly Drill Sergeant. He set the timer and it beeped loudly. "Alright private, we'll see you at Mike's in 0-600 hours."_

_"That's 6:00am you idiot."_

_"REGARDLESS! I expect you to be there!"_

_"Fine, see you soon."_

_"Wait! I'm curious, how'd you manage to convince the Rabbi to let you ditch the jewbeque?_

_Ignoring the derogation, Stan answered his question, "Thank my mom for that. I'll never underestimate her powers of persuasion again._

_"Ah Mama Uris, is there anything she can't do? And I mean anything—_

_Stan hung up._

_..._

_Stan stepped carefully through the darkened forest, eyes wide to his surrounding as he made his way through the dense underbrush. He should have just stuck to the plan and he wondered why he had suddenly decided to go off rails. They always meet at Bills. It's been an ongoing tradition since they were kids. Yet, for some reason Stan felt the need to change things up today. It made no sense. Stan liked structure. He liked routine. So what made this situation any different?_

Stan wonders now if it was fate, compelling him to walk the barrens that night and leading him toward a cruel life lesson that he wishes he had never learned.

_He was highly debating turning around and backtracking through the woods, to walk through Main Street instead, when he heard the muffled sound of laughter ahead of him. When he squinted into the trees he could make out the faintest glow of yellow light between the branches. With curiosity Stan followed, hoping it might be someone camping, and maybe they could point him in the direction of the farm. On the other hand, it could also be an axe murder and in that case, Stan should really be running for his life in the opposite direction. Still, he felt the need to keep moving toward the light. He took careful steps; moving quietly closer and closer till the voices became more audible and two faces flickered in flames._

_It was worse than an axe murderer. It was Henry Bowers and Patrick Hockstetter._

_Quickly, Stan slipped behind a tree. Out of sight, he peaked carefully around the corner. The two boys were sitting lazily beside a fire and drinking beers. Henry wobbled to his feet, taking a clumsy swig from his bottle before whipping it into the fire with a shrewd laugh. The glass shattered and the flames erupted, before settling back into a calm crackle._

_"Where the fuck is Vic and Belch?" He grumbled, "Idiots said they'd be back with more brews like an hour ago."_

_"Think they were snuffed by the cops?"_

_"If they were, they'd best keep my name out of it. I don't need that kind of flack from my old man."_

_Patrick scoffed, "I don't know why you put up with that shit."_

_A shamefaced expression befell Henry, "You don't know what you're talking about—"_

_"I know if my old man ever put his hands on me I'd..." He picked a shard of broken glass out of the dirt and stood. With a leer he took, slow, calculated steps toward Henry. Henry teetered as Patrick closed the distance between them. He looked unsure as Patrick harboured the shard, and inched it toward his neck._

_"Patrick..._

_Almost seductively, Patrick dragged the blade gently across Henry's throat. "It only takes a second. You can't imagine how much blood comes out." His fevered eyes blazed in the flames. "Like a fountain."_

_"You could do it?" Henry asked him. He swallowed against the blade. "Kill someone...not an squirrel or rabbit or some shit...but a person...like for real?"_

_Patrick's long lips were jeering, "Don't worry Henry," he stepped back, and Stanley could swear he saw Henry let out a breath of relief. "I won't hurt you." He smiled, dropping the shard to the ground. "I like you too much."_

_"Yeah sure," Henry rubbed his neck and let out a tense laugh, "I could take you."_

_Patrick stepped closer again, peering down at Henry. Henry looked up, and Stan could see, even from his hiding place, that Henry's eyes were undoubtedly nervous. "I could take you too...all of you, if you'd let me."_

_Patrick's slender fingers played at Henry's belt buckle. Henry grabbed his wrists. "Patrick don't—" His voice faltered, coming back quaky, "I-I'm nu-not some kind of fag you know."_

_Patrick sneered, "You seemed to enjoy it last time." He pulled himself out of Henry's hold and unclasped his own belt._

_"I didn't...I was..." He shook his head, "You made me."_

_"I helped you." He stepped up to Henry, and patted his cheek, "You came crawling to me remember? Daddy beat that pretty little face in, and I made you feel all better...didn't I?"_

_Henry stumbled back on drunken feet, loosing his balance and toppling to the dirt. He peered up with red, puffy eyes, and shook his head, "It wasn't like that."_

_Stan couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Henry actually looked like the vulnerable one. He was a far cry from the boy who incited fear in him, day in and day out for as long as Stan could remember. All Stan could do was stand there, frozen in shock, seeing as Patrick loomed over Henry, and watching as the other boy's bravado came tumbling down._

_"The others will be back—"_

_"No they won't. I made sure of it."_

_Henry's eyes widened, taking in this sudden bombshell of news, "You fucking planned this!"_

_"What can I say, I like when things go my way."_

_"Patrick, I'm not going to do it. Not again."_

_Stanley couldn't take this any longer; he had to get away. He didn't like Henry, heck he'd even go as far as saying he hated him. But Patrick Hockstetter was a whole other can of worms, and Stan wouldn't wish him on his worst enemy, or in this case, his worst bully. He didn't want to see this. He certainly didn't want to live with knowing that he stood there and watched it happen. He moved back, taking cautious, quiet steps and trying to exit himself with as much conspicuousness as he could._

_SNAP_

_Stan's heart jumped as his foot clipped a branch. The noise was thunderous in the silence of the forest. Henry looked up, his gaze zoning past Patrick. His eyes found Stanley's, glowing blue in the darkness. Stan felt his soul twist inside him. Henry didn't look angry, or manic, or ready on the warpath...he looked scared. It was almost like he was relieved to see Stan._

_It was like he was asking Stanley to help him._

_Patrick turned as well. He placed a hand above his eyes and peered into the trees. "That you Uris?" A wild laugh escaped him, "I didn't take you for the peeper type."_

_Stanley mouth went dry. He shuffled fearfully on his feet and shook his head, "I wasn't! I swear! I'm sorry—"_

_"Tell you what!" Patrick shouted to him, cutting between his rambles. "I'll pretend I didn't see you there," he pointed at Stanley, "If you pretend..." He walked beside Henry, and combed his fingers through Henry's hair. "You didn't see us here."_

_Henry shook his head at Stanley._

_There were only two options for Stan to take, fight or flight. He knew Patrick would annihilate him if he even tried to intervene. And while his moral compass was strictly pointing in Henry's direction, every self-preservation instinct inside him was screaming to run the other way and fast._

_So that's exactly what he did._

_Stanley took off._

_The leaves rustled at his feet and Patrick's receding laugh echoed in the woods. He left Henry behind, listened as his betrayed shout called after Stan, "fucking coward!" He fled as fast as he could, not caring what direction his feet were taking him. A screeching-whistle, zipped through the sky, and startled him. Stan turned to follow the sound. Another whistle rang out, followed by a pop...and than another...and another. Sparks flew into the sky, peaking above the trees and splitting into colourful fragments in the blackness._

_Fireworks._

_He raced toward them, pushing his lungs to the limit and feeling his heart thudding in his chest. He ran. He kept running. He noticed a break in the trees and pushed through. A grassy field flaunted before his eyes. He gulped and gasped, legs quaking beneath him._

_Laughter rang out, and Stan could see a group of shadowed figures jumping about in the distance. The Losers._

_"Hey!"_

_Stan jumped, and turned toward the voice. Richie was smiling at him. He held a roman candle in one hand and a bottle rocket in the other. "Bout' time you showed up!"_

_Stan collapsed into Richie's arms, Henry's words having finally caught up to him. Coward. Coward. Coward. Richie dropped the fireworks and pulled Stan in. He rubbed Stan's back, and Stan allowed himself to cry in his friend's embrace._

_Richie never asked Stan about what happened that night, and Stan was grateful to never have to explain._

_..._

Stanley thinks about Henry now, as he sits behind the others and senses their hope unravelling seam by seam. He understands what they're feeling, he feels it too— _shame_. They're wishing they could have done more to stop it. Stanley just wishes he had done anything at all. His friends risked everything for him. Yet somehow Eddie is the one who got caught in the line of fire, and Stanley stood by, allowing it all to happen. He wonders why he's programmed this way—why he's so incapable of putting anyone else before himself. He never wanted them to get hurt because of him, but when push came to shove, he froze... _again_. When it was Henry, Stan told himself there were less stakes. He wasn't about to put himself in harms way for someone who actively made his life hell.

It's not that he didn't feel guilty about that night, because he did. It ate at his conscience, every fucking day for months. He still remembers that first day back at school, catching Henry's gaze in the hallway, and those blue eyes that Stan remembers so well, looking glassy and forlorn. He ripped his attention away.  _Coward_. He couldn't look at Henry Bowers the same way ever again. Stan had wronged him in an awful way, and he knows he deserved every bit of extra abuse Henry thrust upon him that year. In a way, it made him feel better, to welcome the punishment and simply act like somehow that made it all better.

This is different though. This concerns the Losers. He can never make amends for having let them down. He's always considered their friendship to be a selfless one; he doesn't doubt any one of them would give their life in exchange for his. After tonight, he questions if he could ever do the same.

The worst part is, deep down he already knows the answer. He's not strong enough to make that kind of sacrifice. Not even for his friends.

At some point he had to close his eyes, it was just after the screams began. His hands were unbound and Stan covered his ears to try and block out the sound. He's only been afforded that right because of what he is—even in Robert's vision he's a coward, a boy to weak to warrant caution from their captor. Before his lids fell he remembers Richie and Bill found each other, their hands clasped together and held tight. In the wake of their defeat, they need the other more than ever. Stan needs them also. He needs Richie to hold him like he did that fateful Forth of July so many nights ago. He needs Bill to be his protector, to shield him against all things big and bad. He needs Eddie to be a little light in the dark, a smile across the room, reassuring him that they'll be all right.

But they can't be those things. Not anymore. He hasn't earned that of them. The friendship is broken now. _Fragile_ , like the porcelain doll that once perched on his mother's vanity—one crack snakes its way through, till what's left are the damaged and irreparable shards of something that had been perfect. Stan feels like he's played a big part in driving that shattering wedge between them.

For all they’ve done for him, he has nothing to offer in return, and that probably makes him the most useless person on the planet right now. All he can do is own his blame and hope somehow that he might carry some of their guilt as well.

Another scream rings out and Stan presses his palms to his ears even harder. He can't stand listening to Eddie's pain, but it's Robert also, who makes Stan wish he were deaf. He hurts their friend, letting out mangled grunts, and pants that have him sounding like a rabid animal.

Stan tries humming and rocking in place, hoping to drown it out but that doesn't work. Timorous and trembling where he sits, he can only pray it ends quickly.

Except that's not how Robert does things.

Everything he takes from Eddie, he does so with unforgiving viciousness. He draws the whole ordeal out, indulging in it. Forcing every brutal plea he can from Eddie's waning lungs till all that's left in him is a cacophony of breathy, pitiful sobs.

"He can't breath!" Richie shouts, and he's never sounded so completely beside himself with panic. "Listen to him! He can't fucking breath!"

It feels like an eternity of cruelty before the noises become more frantic and unhinged. Eventually, Robert lets out a low, repulsive groan of pure exultation and it's finally over. The room goes silent, save for a whimpering Eddie, and the laboured breaths of his abuser.

"God damn," he breathes long and satisfied. Robert peels himself free of their friend and chuckles arrogantly to himself, basking in his handy work. "That was...marvellous!"

His lack of remorse is stomach turning. He collects his discarded clothing and Stanley can hear the shuffle of fabric and the clink of a belt buckle as he redresses. It's sorrowful realization, knowing that Eddie won't be afforded the same comfort. When he opens his eyes—because he can't bring himself to do that yet—he'll find his friend, with the clothing torn from his body and strewn in pieces on the floor.

He'll find Eddie, broken beyond repair.

Heavy footfalls slap across the floor in their direction, coming to halt just steps from where they've been left, the unwilling participants in Robert's sick little game. Stan hears the uptick of his heart as the man lowers to their level. A puff of Robert's hot breath finds his skin.

"Open your eyes," Robert orders them, in a tone that is unnervingly complaisant for a man whose just committed the unthinkable. A moment passes for them to respond. Stan keeps his lids shut tight. He can only assume the others have done the same because he hears Robert sigh in displeasure. The man shuffles to his feet, and his footsteps retreat. Stan wonders if he's actually left, but another of Eddie's bloodcurdling screams' quickly answers his thoughts.

"STOP!" Bill shouts at the same time Richie shouts "EDDIE!"

Stan's eyes spring open and he can't believe what he's seeing. He stammers, "Oh—my—god..." and then the horrific moment hits him all at once and a traumatized, jarring shriek escapes him, "LOOK AT HIS ARM!

Robert stands above Eddie's, twisting his arm into an unnatural position. His shoulder is displaced, the bone, contorted and poking against his skin. Eddie starts to vomit, no doubt from the pain. Mucus hangs from his lips, sticky clear bile, as he dry heaves over and over, till what's left in his stomach is spewed all over the cement floor.

"Boys, I thought you've learned your lesson."

"We have!" Richie entreats, "Honest, we have!"

"When I ask you to do something…" Robert's is crazed, pulling Eddie's arm further out of place, "I EXPECT YOU TO DO IT!"

Bill clamours in desperation, "We got it!" Robert turns on him and he immediately eases his tone, trying not to incite the man further. "Listen, we're sss-sorry okay? Please. He-he's had enough Mr. Gray…it's over...enough."

Robert releases Eddie, and he drops to the floor, instantly curling into himself. His naked body trembles where he lays. It's a grim sight for them to bare witness and Stanley can't bring himself to keep watching. He looks to the others, but finds no comfort.

Robert steps over Eddie and strides toward them. The boys look up as he towers over them dauntingly. "He was good..." Robert says gleefully, "in case anyone was wondering."

Bill's shakes his head. In a low, barely composed voice he mutters, "please don't—

Ignoring Bill, Robert's attention slithers to Richie, "How bout' you Richie? Oh yes! I bet you're real curious."

This isn't good. Richie is barely keeping it together as is, and Stan doesn't think he can withstand another second of Robert's provocation. He hopes Robert will just leave them alone, but his eyes are unscrupulous and scheming; Stanley knows right away that the man is nowhere near finished. With ridicule, Robert says, "You're just a little pervert, aren't you Richard?"

From where he sits, Stan can see Richie's flushed cheeks. He blinks through angry tears and glares back at the man. He looks like he wants to say something. But he's clearly too afraid to speak, or doing anything that might set Robert off again.

The man crouches and with a contented breath, he moves so that he's close to Richie's face. Riche angles back, gulping as he leans in. Robert purrs at him, "He was deliciously tight.” Richie's expression twists in pain. "Squealed real loud for me—didn't he? Like a scared little mouse." Richie chokes out a pathetic and ruined sound, turning to pieces in the wake of Robert's words.

Robert carries on, "speechless Trashmouth?" He let's out a goading laugh, "well ain't that a first." His ego is mounting, thinking he's won.

"Leave him alone."

Stan turns to Bill at the same time Robert does. Even with his bruised face, Stan can make out Bill's rancour expression. He sounds sharp as ice as he repeats himself. "I said leave him alone...Robert."

Stan is stunned, unable to comprehend what Bill is thinking. This is the only time any of them have used Roberts first name. Since the first night in the cellar, he’s made it very clear how they must refer to him. Robert revels in the authority of hearing them call him Mr. Gray, and no one has dared to try and speak against him, until now.

Stanley isn't sure how Robert will react to Bill's affront, but his impudence isn't lost on the man. His smile drops in an instant, and he rubs his chin tensely. A small, disbelieving snort leaves his lips and he abandons Richie where he sits. Bill looks relieved, even as Robert comes to crouch before him instead. It's almost like he understands Robert can't help himself as far as Bill is concerned. Stan thinks Bill is the only one who can spur this kind of reaction from the man, and his friend knows it. 

Bill straightens, puffing his chest out to meet Robert with as much gull as he can muster. Stan envies his grit.

Robert tilts his head to properly look at Bill, "You think you can disrespect me Billy?" His tone is bone-chillingly lurid. 

"You’re a mu-monster," Bill spits back at him. “Yu-you don’t deserve respect.”

In a quick move, that makes Stan jump, Robert clutches Bill by the back of his neck. He squeezes his grip, "I don't know why you insist on provoking me silly boy." He yanks Bill roughly forward, and elicits a small, painful sound from him. "You know exactly how this’ll end."

Bill's breath is heady and heavy with hatred, "Shh-sure I know..." He groans as Robert dig his nails in, "But you have nu-no clue."

Robert furrows his brows, and his expression shifts with puzzlement. He snags Bill by the hair and pulls his head back, "Oh is that right?"

"Yu-yeah...because...when th-this is all over...” he stares Robert in the eyes and doesn’t stutter this time, “I'm going to kill you."

A vein on Robert’s forehead twitches. He looks troubled and Stanley swears he catches a tinge of something resembling real worry in his eyes. He thinks this is the first time anyone, has ever challenged the man, let alone promised death. Though it only lasts a moment, Stan is certain Bill has struck a delicate nerve. Robert’s nose turns up with annoyance, and he glowers down at the kid in his clutches, "And what makes you so sure about that?"

"I rrr-read a lot of comics...th-the good guys always win...sorry."

His answer is flippant and ballsy, and it sends Robert into frenzy. He's livid. He storms to his feet, and drags Bill across the floor by his hair. Stan and Richie can only watch helplessly as Bill struggles for freedom. Robert brings him closer and closer, until they are inches from where Eddie lays. He gives Bill a shake and forces him to look right at Eddie. "See that!" Robert yells, "I make the rules around here you little bitch!" He shakes Bill again, and yanks him to his feet, "I do what I want with you!" He pulls Bill in so that they're chests are pressed together and their faces are inches apart. "I'M YOUR FUCKING GOD!"

The man pants in a wild way as he reaches behind to retrieve something from his pocket. Stan's heart stops. Robert pulls out a knife.

"NO!" Richie begs. "PLEASE! PLEASE! NO!"

"HE DIDN'T MEAN IT!" Stan tries, he's crying as well, drivelling, swollen sobs that he can't control.

They can’t do this without Bill. They just can’t!

Silent tears fall from Bill's eyes and he sucks in a breath as Robert leans in. "And you belong to me," he says, poking the knife into Bill's side and, twisting it into his stomach, just enough to make him hiss. "All of you…understand me?"

With one hand still gripping Bill's hair, Robert forcibly nods Bill's head for him. He impersonates Bill with a fake boyish intonation, "Yes Mr. Gray, I understand!" He leans back to look Bill in the eyes, "I knew you would.”

Something unexpected happens next.

Bill gasps as Robert pulls the knife away. He's shocked when the man brings the blade around, to snap open the tie around his wrists. His hands fall loose, and he's suspicious, but there's barely time to react, because Robert pushes him to the ground. Bill catches himself and he lands beside Eddie. Robert is suddenly moving to where Stan and Richie are. Stan watches as Robert comes to them. An anxious feeling of dread gathers inside Stanley, as he wonders what the man has planned for them. He crouches to Richie's level again, "That was exciting, wasn't it?" He reaches around Richie, and surprisingly opens his zip tie as well. Richie brings his hands to his front, and rubs his wrists in confusion.

“Unfortunately, that's all the fun I have planned for tonight."

Robert stands, and they all watch him carefully, uncertain of what his next move is.

He nods in Eddie's direction, "Clean him up." He then looks between them, his eyes individually meeting each boy, promising that they'll play again real soon. He finds Bill, and his attention lingers. His lips are wet, and he clenches his fists, as if trying to compose himself. He brings the knife back up and points it at him, "Don't think we're done yet Billy boy." With a matter-of-fact grin, he says, "I've got big plans for you. BIG! BIG! PLANS! Oh, but you just have to wait and see about that."

Then he turns and climbs up the steps; leaving the boys alone, to wallow in the terrible mess he’s left behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I know this feels like it's moving slowly but I'm very excited to start progressing the plot from here, and I promise, it only gets better! Chapter 4 will finally have the long awaited comfort scene everyone is hoping for, and there will be plenty of Reddie. So please keep checking back for updates. I'm also looking forward to incorporating the other Losers in the mix! I hope you are all as excited as I am, to see what happens next. Bear with me through the wait, I promise it will be worth it! 
> 
> Thanks for all the support my lovely readers! Also, please leave me a comment and let me know what you think of this chapter! It seriously keeps me motivated to continue, and I appreciate the feedback so much. xoxo


	4. Richie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Descriptions of rape/sexual abuse 
> 
> Well this is my fastest update yet! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Did someone order angsty Reddie? Well that's what you're getting. Thanks for all the support thus far guys, and please leave me a comment to let me know what you think of this chapter. I feed of the feedback haha!

His instinct is to race across the room right to Eddie, the moment the door shuts behind Robert. But he fights against the unbearable, longing wait of it all; because for now he has to stay put, listening vigilantly. He won't move a muscle, not before he's positive the coast is clear. He needs to hear the dead bolts first, the familiar rattle and scrape of the metallic latches fixing back together and secluding them from the world yet again.

He can't risk playing into another one of Robert's tricks.

Because he suspects this is exactly what the man wants, to fill Richie with false hopes that he's gone and right before he can make it to Eddie, that's when he'll return.  _"You didn't think I was done with him, did you?"_ Richie can hear Robert's words like he's already there, forcing Eddie up the steps and ripping him away for good.

A horrific image plagues his mind now, one of a lifeless Eddie laying in the soil of some secluded forest beyond the cellar walls. Maggots and flies fill his bloated corpse. He's been disposed of, like a used up toy that Robert has grown tired with.

Consumed by the dreaded thought, Richie can feel is eyes shining with a sheath of fresh tears. He can't let his friends become just another face plastered onto the back of some milk carton.

" _Did you hear?”_ Someone will ask, sipping their coffee at the breakfast table _, “They found the body of that Kaspbrak boy in the woods. What a shame._ "

 _"NO!"_ He wants to scream, because they don't belong in this place. This isn't supposed to be their story. They're meant to spend days shootn' the shit at the quarry—their nights under cover of fireflies and burning street lamps—roaring out laughter as they race their bikes infinitely into the promise of a new day.

But in the cellar he knows, they aren't guaranteed anything, except for the promise of Robert's eventual return. When? He has no clue, and that's what's torturing him the most. Like the hodgepodge of laces on his sneakers, Richie is in knots—a shambled mess that might come undone any moment. He just needs to pray to whatever God or superhero (because for real, what God let's this kind of shit happen to kids?) that Robert really has abandoned them for tonight.

When he looks across the room, he sees Eddie curled up on the floor, with Bill knelt at his side. His head is rested in Bill's lap and Bill is stroking his hair.

 _Thank fuck, for Bill fucking Denbrough_.

The love he feels for Bill in that moment is ineffable. Richie doesn't know how he can manage to comfort someone else considering his own heart-rending state, but Bill does it time and again. He's the only strength they need in this horrific situation, and he doesn't think any of them would have survived this long without him. He still remembers fumbling down the steps with Robert after his  _first time._  He was a mess, eyes puffy and red with tears, his lip busted and bleeding. He'd been mouthing off the entire way to Robert's bedroom, and had earned himself a hell of a right hook to the face the night before.

That hadn't stopped him though, and he had every intention of defying the man till the bitter end. But in the instance when Robert thrust into him, he shut right up. He could only plead for it to end. It hurt— _so goddamn much, and_ Richie wondered if Robert was actually trying to fuck him to death. He wouldn't put it past the man. All night— _all fucking night_ , Robert forced himself onto Richie, over and over again. By the end, he had Richie on his knees sucking him off. He was gagging so much; he thought he was going to vomit. Now he wished he had, _fuck_  wouldn't that have been a great way to piss the bastard off?

But he's ashamed to admit that he swallowed, every bit of it.

" _See_ ," Robert said to him, saccharine sweet. He pulled Richie's bottom lip back with his thumb, " _I just knew that mouth was good for something else_."

Richie shakes his head. He can't think of that right now. He focuses on Bill instead.

Bill his friend—who caught Richie in his arms after Robert had shoved him off that final step like he was worthless. He was so weak, thighs throbbing and legs shaking uncontrollably. He couldn't even stand straight. He leaned on Bill with his entire weight. He still hangs onto the words that Bill whispered in his ear that morning, " _I've got you._ " Gratitude aches in his heart as he remembers, " _I've got you Richie. I won't let go._ "

He wonders now if Bill will ever let himself be rescued. He doubts it. He knows Bill will always place his friends on a higher tier, far above himself. In a strange way he's like their guardian angel, and Richie fears it's his willingness to be so self-sacrificing that will get Bill hurt even worse.

When he remembers back to minutes ago, he's still shook by Robert's departing words, " _big plans for you..."_

_Big Plans? Big Plans? Big Plans?_

He doesn't want to imagine what that could mean for Bill, and he can only hope that Robert was just talking out of his ass.

Because Bill is good, and Robert will find anything he can—do anything he can—to trounce on that goodness and stomp on it till there's nothing left. Richie thinks even Bill, lion-hearted as he may be, can only take so much before he loses it completely.

...

There's a brassy screech from above as Robert toys with the plated locks. The sound knocks Richie back to the present.

 _"He's coming back,"_ Richie worries, but then he hears one of the bolts being secured.  _Click one._

A set of keys jangles from behind the door.  _Click two._

_Please be true._

_Click three._ That's it then. It's over, or at least for tonight. With the final bolt locked in place, Richie is instantly on the move; tripping over his own feet in a full-fledged hurtle across the floor.

"Eddie!" he calls out to him, "Eddie! Oh no! No! Eddie!" He's babbling. He knows he needs to be strong, but as he slides to Eddie’s side, he has no idea how. The smell of sex burns acrid in Richie's nostrils and surrounds Eddie's broken body. Hand-shaped bruises mar his hips, red scratches split into his delicate skin, his arm is mangled, and  _oh God_ , why is there so much—

"Blood!" Stanley gasps. Richie hadn't noticed him until now. He hovers on his feet, staring down at them crying, "his...his thighs. Guys he's bleeding a lot!" Richie can't help but feel a building resentment with every tear that slips down Stanley's face. He narrows his eyes at his friend. _Friend?_  How can he be, when he's just standing there watching them, just like before?

He just fucking stood there!

And Richie wants to shout at him, _"You could have done something!"_ Which he almost does, but he feels a soft hand cup his wrist and when he looks, Bill is watching like he knows what Richie is thinking.

His eyes say it all, “ _not now, he needs you_."

Richie sucks in his pride and forgets for the moment about being angry. He bites his tongue and looks down at Eddie. His heart aches so much. Eddie whinges as he hugs his arm and buries his face into Bill's knee. "It hurts,” he says, eyes scrunched tight in anguish, “it hurts so bad!”

Richie's hands tremble, ghosting above Eddie's body like he's afraid to touch him. "I'm sorry…" he's says, trying to hold it together. "But Eddie, we're here with you now. You're going to be all right."

He knows Eddie is far from all right—in fact, he doesn't think Eddie will ever be all right again. But he needs to say something to calm him down, and let him know that he's not alone.

Eddie shuffles barely a fraction, and a sharp, painful wail leaves his lips.

"Oh God!" Richie eyes widen. He's in full-blown panic mode, and his eyes dart to Bill for answers, "What do we do?"

Bill swallows nervously, and he thinks. An epiphany flashes in his eyes. Though clearly uncertain, he draws his fingers through Eddie's hair and leans down, shushing him gently, "I know it's rrr-real bad rrr-right now. But we're going to help you Eddie. I sss-swear."

Eddie nods, gasping through every harsh tremor befitting his small body.

Bill looks up. "Rich," his voice is thick with authority and Richie's worried eyes lock on him. Clearly, Bill is hesitant to say whatever it is he's about to say, but ultimately he comes to a resolution. Taking a breath, he tells Richie, "You nu-need to reset his arm."

The words hit him like a freight train and he thinks, this is it—this is the moment where Bill Denbrough finally loses his mind. He shakes his head in a dizzying panic, "I don't know...I...how am I...nu-no!"

"Richie!" Bill's voice cuts between his rambles. He isn't having it. "You have to do this.”

"Bill I can't!"

"Yes you can!" Bill's eyes are earnest and dripping wet with purposeful tears. "We all know you don't just sss-spend hours at the library with Ben just to keep him company. You're there because yu-you like to be there. Listen, for as long as I've known you, you've always been the sss-smartest kid Rich, the mu-most curious. You read all those mu-medical books, and watch all that gross surgery shh-shh-shit on TV because it interests you, nu-not because it's an easy way to make a pu-punch line to a gory joke. I know you've studied this sss-stuff before."

Still holding his wrist, Bill lifts up Richie's trembling hand to rest it on Eddie's arm. Bill nods at him, "You're the only one who ca-can do this."

Richie looks again, to see Eddie laying in desperation. He scared shitless—he's only ever seen this kind of stuff on television. Thankfully, he's never had to put any of what he's learned into practice; well until now. He worried he's going to botch the whole damn thing and Eddie's going to turn out far worse then he already is. Not to mention the physical toll it will take. He's going to have to hurt Eddie excruciatingly, before he can make him better. The thought of causing Eddie any kind of pain makes Richie sick to his stomach.

But then Eddie whimpers, writhing on the floor and Richie knows, he can't just leave him like this. Bill is right. Reservations aside, he needs to step up. He needs to help his friend.

He shoots Bill a weary glance but Bill's eyes glint with encouragement, "It's up to you Trashmouth."

_No pressure._

He turns back to Eddie.

_Eddie. Eddie. Eddie._

He needs to help Eddie.

"Eds," he says softly, and Eddie musters a groan in response. He's got his head still buried in Bill's lap. "Eds, I need you to look at me."

Richie places his palm on Eddie's cheek. He strokes the soft skin against his thumb. Eddie blinks a few times, opening his eyes. They are red and raw, looking so completely lost. Richie bites the inside of his bottom lip to keep it from quivering worse, "there you are."

"Richie,” Eddie mewls, “I tried...bu-but I couldn’t stop him...I'm weak."

"No," Richie asserts, "No. Eds you aren't weak. You're the bravest kid I know."

“Yu-you got me mu-mistaken for Bill."

Richie is flabbergasted. How Eddie can muster the courage to have any sense of humour despite his nightmarish ordeal, is beyond even Richie's comprehension. It just goes to show just how plucky Eddie really is.

"Yeah right,” Richie answers, “Big Bill's got nothing on you Spaghetti Man." He looks at Bill, and Bill's lips drag up into something resembling a smile, though it’s far too sad to be considered one.

Before he can respond, another painful tremor ripples through Eddie and he pierces his lips to fight against the sharp cry. He breathes through it, "It won't stop..."

Richie falls into action, "Listen, I'm going to try something. It’ll hopefully make things a little better." He cradles Eddie's face with protective reassurance, "But you're gonna' have to trust me, alright?"

Eddie’s eyes widen in trepidation. "Will it hurt?"

He has this look about him, like he doesn't actually want to know the truth. But Richie won't lie to him. He thinks Eddie can't handle another terrible surprise tonight.

Richie nods. "Like a bitch," he answers honestly. Eddie groans and scrunches his eyes shut again. "But hey!” Richie declares, “I'm going to be right here with you. And so are Bill and Stan..."

He trails off, turning to look at Stanley who's still hovering formidably at a distance. He clenches his jaw, his eyes are serious and he calls out to him harshly, "Stanley!"

Stan jumps at sharpness in his tone. He's fiddling his fingertips nervously. He stares back at Richie with a chagrined sort of expression. Richie tries to compose himself, as he stares him down. "We need you," he says in a familiar callback to his plea just hours before. Guilt etches all over Stan's face and he gives a numb nod. Hesitantly, he collapses to his knees between Bill and Richie, so that Eddie's friends are all surrounding him. Using his eyes, Riche gestures to Eddie hand and Stan reaches out, taking it between his two palms.

"I'm sorry." Stanley snivels, "I'm su-sorry Eddie...but I'm here too."

…

To begin, Richie positions his hands where they need to be on Eddie's shoulder. He psyches himself up, rolling through a collection of mental textbooks, and remembering the steps to relocating the bone.

He thinks he's ready to do this. But he's so nervous looking at Eddie. Before he can think better of it, he’s already blurting out something stupid, "I'm guessing if I fuck this up, you're going to clobber my ass with whatever bionic arm you get to replace this one, huh?"

Eddie looks exhausted, but a brittle smirk plays on his lips, "You better fucking count on it."

They all chuckle collectively—miserably—unhinged chuckles that feel forced and falter in a moments notice. Then it’s back to the cruel reality of the situation. Richie nods and Eddie nods back, “I trust you,” he whispers.

Richie tells him he's going to count down. He waits till Eddie hides his face back in Bill's lap. Bill hugs his head, cooing encouragements, "It'll be over soon."

Stan squeezes Eddie's hand, and Eddie squeezes back. His knuckles are white with anticipation.

"One..." Richie starts; his fingertips tap over Eddie's skin.

"Two..." He feels his hands shaking, and he wills them to stop.

"THREE!" He sucks in a deep breath, trying to vacuum all the courage he can, preparing himself for what he's about to do and—

_SNAP!_

_..._

The worst is over and they're just sitting in stunned silence, amazed that Richie actually managed to pull it off. Richie can notice the deep bruises, now starting to form on Eddie's arm—ugly blotches of green, purple and blue that aren't supposed to be there. They're growing larger with every passing minute, festering. But at least Eddie can move his arm without the displaced agony. Eddie is panting, he's spent, and strands of hair stick to his face, heavy with sweat. Richie takes Eddie's face between his palms and presses his forehead against his.

"You did it," he says to him, "I'm so fucking proud of you."

Rested against him, Eddie just nods and cries. Richie's holds Eddie there for a few moments, hating that he can take all the pain away, because Eddie is hurting all over—inside and out. He eventually pulls back, and looks at the others. The have the same conscious expressions on their faces. Eddie can't lay in this mess any longer.

Richie looks around for anything to cover Eddie up. The others do the same. In a corner of the room is an old, rusted-up meat freezer, with a dusted over white sheet cover. Richie nods towards it, and Stan runs to retrieve it. He rips the sheet off of the freezer and shuffles it out. A heavy spattering of dust catches the air, clouding around them. Stan burst through the mess, hightailing it back to them. He hands the sheet to Richie. It's filthy, with grimy stains all over, but it's all they have to work with for the moment. He just hopes Eddie won't take notice.

He drapes the sheet over Eddie and Bill helps him sit up, so they can fully wrap it around him.

"Can you stand?" Richie asks him, and Eddie looks uncertain but he nods, informing them that he's willing to try. Richie secures his arms around Eddie's waist. He get's up with careful movements, trying to hoist Eddie up with him. Eddie groans and stumbles and Bill jumps forth to catch him on the opposite side.

Eddie’s legs are like jello, quaking with each step. He hisses in pain as they walk him toward the bathroom—if you can call it that. It's more like windowless and shoddy concrete attachment to the cellar, with a toilet and tub and nothing else.

"You're almost th-there," Bill tells him, and Richie wonders if he can also feel Eddie body getting heavier as they move along, like he's losing strength with each passing step. Stan runs ahead of them. He enters the bathroom and switches the light on. The florescent bulb hanging by a string on the ceiling, chirps and buzzes to life, flickering a few times before finally settling.

When they walk into the room, there’s little space for the boys to linger. They need to give Eddie his privacy to clean up, but Richie’s afraid of leaving him alone. Eddie's staring fixedly at the wall, eyes vacant, swaying on his feet and Richie's not sure he can do this himself.

Richie makes a decision, hugging Eddie tighter against him. “Someone should stay here," he suggests to Bill, and there's no arguing who that someone is.

Bill understands, he carefully disentangles himself from Eddie and to Richie he says, "We'll clean up outside.” He’s glad Bill is thinking the same thing. They can’t let Eddie take another step back into that cellar until the remnants of what's been done to him are cleared—every trace of semen, blood and vomit. The memories of his assault will always be a part of Eddie, but they can at least try to limit the reminders.

"Good," Richie says, “and his clothes..." He trails of, wondering if they'll find anything usable. He can still hear the violent tear of fabric, so clear in his ears as Robert stripped Eddie naked.

"We'll see wha-what we can salvage.”

Richie squeezes Bill’s arm in silent thanks, and Bill places his hand over Richie's, "we're rrr-right outside the door if you need us," he promises.

He walks out the room, but Stan hesitates. He catches Richie's eyes. The burning anger still throbs in his heart and Richie just shakes his head at him. He's not ready yet. He breaks their gaze with a miff. From a sideways glance, he can see Stan—head hung low as he pulls the door shut behind him.

...

They're alone now. Completely.

Richie rubs Eddie's arms, telling him he’s going to run a bath. Eddie says nothing. He's got the blanket pinched between his fingers, and curled up against his chin like he does when they're watching a scary movie. Richie thinks it easier for him to hide that way—like when a monster would show up on screen and Eddie would cover his whole head with the blanket, waiting for the scary parts to end.

With reluctance, he leaves Eddie standing where he is so he can get the water going. He doesn't realize how badly he's shaking, not until he's kneeling before the tub, hands trembling as he turns the handles to the faucet. The water is hot—then cold—and too hot again. He needs to get a hold of himself. He pauses, takes a breath and jostles the handles a little slower this time. He finally adjusts it to an adequate temperature. He grabs the stopper laying in the middle of the tub and plugs the drain.

The tub fills up quickly, and Richie shuts off the tap. He turns around to find Eddie exactly where he left him. It's unnerving, because he looks like he hasn't moved a muscle. Richie leans on the edge of the tub, and pushes himself to his feet. He walks over to Eddie. Richie brings his fingertips up, touching the blanket. "I know you probably don’t want to, bu-but you need to take this off Eds…to umm…get in the tub."

Eddie breaks free of his trance, and lifts his gaze slowly to look at Richie. He looks so scared and Richie responds by taking hold of the sheet, and carefully pulling it free from Eddie's stiff grip.

"We’re going to do this together,” he assures him.

Eddie’s tears are warm, falling from his chin, onto Richie's knuckles. He swallows against a sob, and nods. 

Unwavering, Richie keeps his gaze held with Eddie's. He won't allow himself to wander and break their trust. He opens the sheet, and lets it crumple to the floor with a  _whish_. Eddie instantly crosses his arm and covers up, looking ashamed. Richie places his arm securely around Eddie's shoulders.

“Hey…” he whispers, using the same gentle words Bill once spoke to him, “I’ve got you.”

Eddie allows Richie to guide him to the water. He steps in with one foot and then the next. As he lowers himself in, quiet sounds of aching discomfort escape him. Richie tries to ignore them, focusing only on helping Eddie sit down. When he’s submerged, Eddie pulls his knees up against his chest. The water burbles around him. “Thank you,” he rasps.

Richie smiles sadly. He sits on the floor beside the tub, and rests his elbow on the porcelain edge. Eddie get’s lost again—his thoughts swirling as he stares ahead, unspeaking.

Richie hates to see him like this. It was such a challenge for Eddie to break free of his encumbering fears. Sure, he’s always been a little scared of the world—and now it seems he had good reason to be. But Richie always knew he would find a way to overcome that. When Eddie threw away his inhaler and stood against his mother, he had such thrill in his eyes, exhilarated by the idea of finally being able to control his own life.

That day was meant to be the start of something good—the turn of a new leaf.

Who would have ever guessed it would turn out to be the worst day of their lives. Well, up until now. _This,_ Richie thinks, _this is now the worst day_.

Eddie’s life has been altered in this horrible, unimaginable way and he senses Eddie may be affected even worse than him and Bill.

Because Richie sees Eddie in such an honest way, and he knows Robert has stolen any ounce of self-assurance Eddie once had. He’s unable to miss the abrading look of anxiety on Eddie’s face. He knows what Eddie must be thinking—unclean—tainted—disgusting things that he’ll never stop feeling.

“It’s not true,” Richie tells him.

Eddie just frowns with a twisted, self-deprecating expression. Richie tries again, needing him to hear this. “Eddie,” his voice is firm, urging Eddie to look at him. “All that shit going on in your head right now, whatever your punishing yourself for, none of it’s true.”

"You don’t understand—”

When he turns to finally face Richie, Eddie looks devastated, “he made me…he…he…” He starts to weep, sounding ragged and lamenting. His body quavers with the weight of his grief.

Richie knows exactly what Eddie is speaking of. It happens to him also, when Robert touches him all over, making Richie respond in ways he’s still ashamed to admit to. He knows it’s not his fault. It’s not Eddie’s either; it’s just Robert’s filthy way of making them feel powerless in their own skin.

Richie reaches over to gently brush the damp strands away from Eddie’s face. Eddie leans into his touch. “Don’t you understand Eds, it happened _to you—_ against your will. However way your body responded, whatever you may believe, it was biology that took over. You can’t blame yourself for that.” Richie brings his hand down to squeeze Eddie’s shoulder, “You never wanted it. None of us did. So please, don’t let Robert do this to you. Not when he’s already taken so much.”

“I can still feel him…” Eddie chokes out, “Like he’s still inside me.” He stares at Richie with a hollow sort of sadness, seeming empty—like a shell of the boy he once was. “Will it get easier?”

Richie won’t lie to Eddie, so he says nothing at all.

Eddie takes the silence as his answer. Another round tear brims in the corner of his eye and he blinks, letting it fall. “I want to go home.”

“We’ll get you there Eds, I promise.”

“Beep Beep,” he tells Richie, “don’t make promises you can’t keep. We’re going to die here Richie. We’re going to die, and the last thing I said to my mom was ‘I hate you.’ I…I just left her there Rich, and now I’m never gonna’ see her again. No one knows where we are. We don’t even know where we are!” He shakes his head bitterly, “Sherriff Bowers’ won’t do shit—he’s probably already forgotten us by now.”

“Probably,” Richie doesn’t argue, “But you have to believe the others are still searching. Haystack, Mike, Beverly—they won’t give up on us Eds, I know they won’t. So we can’t give up either.”

Eddie looks unconvinced, closing his eyes and resting a cheek against his knees, “Did we do something wrong?” When Eddie opens his eyes they are bleak—almost black, capturing all the darkness he’s ever witnessed. “Why else would this be happening Richie? 

Richie has already asked himself this question so many times before, and every time he has to come back to the same, haunting and unfair truth, “because he chose us.”

 


	5. Robert Gray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah guys...I really don't know where this chapter even came from. It was not what I intended to write for Chapter 5, but since I was experiencing writers block, I decided to add this in as a short leeway chapter. Both to tide you all over, and before we start getting into the good stuff. Sorry it's not longer! I'm not quite sure how I feel about this update honestly, but I hope you enjoy. Warnings for rape/sexual abuse. Please let me know what you think. I had a tough time writing this one, so feedback would be amazing and helps me improve the next chapter!

_He offered Bill Denbrough an ultimatum—to come willingly, or Robert would choose one of the others in his stead. Robert had expected a moments contemplation at least, for Bill to weigh the value of his own life against the rest. But the answer had come, forthwith and without a second thought. Bill stared into Robert's bulging, charged eyes, deeming himself as the only defence between his friends and the berserk man before him, and he agreed._

_The Losers dove on him, clutched onto their friend, begged him not to go and Bill had turned and promised them, so convincingly, that he'd be alright. He knew better of course. He'd seen the look in Robert's eyes, a lusting carnality fastened only on him. But they'd wanted nothing more than to trust him, to hope that Bill really was as invincible as they'd believed him to be. So they let Bill go, watched with watery eyes as Robert led him away._

_"Hang tough Big Bill," Richie's shaken voice had called, and he clutched his hand to his heart, a tribute to his soon to be fallen friend._

_It was clear these boys held Bill Denbrough to a high esteem. They admired him, the nickname proved that much. The annoyance pestered and whittled his bones, sent blood boiling to his brain. So Robert Gray made it his prerogative to ensure Bill understood his place. In a bed, beneath Robert, or on his knees before him—either way, he was at the man's utter will._

_On his first night he led Bill into a decrepit looking bedroom, dappled with mould and cobwebs. Paisley wallpaper peeled from corners. The curtains were thin, like the wing of a bat; not that it mattered, the windows were boarded up anyways. Ovoid caricatures of grinning clowns hung on the walls. But they weren't alone. Impending life size figures of clowns stood all around the room, their lolling smiles and cross-eyed gazes observed the pair with mirth._

_"My friends," Robert explained, squeezing Bills shoulder. The boy stiffened, and Robert walked him down a carpeted path that led right to the bed. It was large, the frame built sturdy, soldered to the wall with black iron rods. A mattress draped with dirty yellow sheets _was rested in the center._ He remembered the dolorous look on the boy's face as he took it all in, his atoms apple bobbed in nervous foresight. _

_Robert stepped up behind him, Bill sucked in a shallow breath. His chest pressed against the boy's back. Robert coiled an arm around him and squeezed Bill's face between his fingers. He leaned down, nuzzling his nose into the back of Bill's head, scenting his hair. His fingertips gambolled down Bill's neck, beneath soft fabric, playing at his collarbone, and he unfastened the top button of Bill's shirt._

_The tears fell freely once Robert began to undress him. The man unclasped a second button. Bill bit his bottom lip, trying so hard to stop himself from crying aloud. Despite his attempts, Robert could still hear the quiet pules managing to sneak passed his lips. The bravado he'd put on for his friends was crumbling, and it was music to Robert's ears. Robert finished with the last button, drawing his palm over Bills stomach and stroking his smooth, untouched skin. A possessive feeling lapped through him. He swelled with pride; no one but Robert Gray would ever touch Bill Denbrough like this again. Robert would make sure of that._

_He reached to undo Bill's belt and a hand came forth to stop him. Bill held his wrist. The gesture had been sudden, perhaps even subconscious and unintended, but in a split-second, the circumstance had shifted. Bill had made clear he would not go down without a fight. Robert's lips turned up into a deranged smile. His dick twitched between his legs. Oh, how he loved the feisty ones. There was nothing more satisfying than the thrill of subduing an unwilling lover. He licked his lips and in a spectre of savage excitement, he turned Bill around and tackled him onto the bed._

_"Naughty Billy." Robert bolstered, as he wrestled the boy down, dodging punches, and kicks and delivering his own violent blows. He pinned Bill's wrists to the mattress with one hand. "I was going to be gentle..." Bill panted beneath him, nose bleeding, shirt torn, eyes wet with tears._

_So, so pretty._

_"But now, I don't think I will."_

_Bill heaved back, spitting a thick gob into Robert's face. "Ffff-uck you!" He snapped back._

_Robert let out a brainsick cackle. "You're going to be one of my favourites," he said, wiping his face clean. He rubbed the mess onto his pant leg and reached to unfasten Bill's belt for a second time. Bill squirmed in desperation as Robert tugged his jeans loose. "I can tell."_

_He brought an elbow down, ramming Bill in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him. Bill choked; keeling forward and Robert took the opportunity to turn him over. He pulled the boy's boxers down, and licked two fingers. A sound between a sob and a gasp filled the air when Robert jabbed them into Bill, opening him up, preparing him._

_"You can still beg for me to stop," Robert teased him, though he had no intention of ever doing so. He was already so hard, and aching with anticipation. He unzipped and pulled out, ready to plunge into Bill with a savage and brutal thrust. "Come on Billy Boy, beg me!"_

_Bill curled his fist between the sheets, and pushed his face into the mattress, attempting to muffle his cries. Robert smirked, "Fine then," he gripped Bill's waist with both hands, and muttered arrogantly, "You will soon."_

...

Collecting on his departing hairline is a bead of sweat. It hangs there for a moment, holding onto a red flyaway like a climber, clutching onto a peak for dear life. The van hobbles over a pothole, jolts him in his seat, and the bead is knocked loose. It meanders down his face, smearing a messy streak of chalky white paint with it. Robert Gray shakes his head; jester bells jangle on his suit as he does so. He's wound up. A hard bulge throbs between his legs, concealed only by the silk parachute pants he's wearing. He breathes deep, stifling the lechery purging through him by attempting to mask it with the rage he also feels.

He bristles in his seat as he speeds his van wildly down Jackson Street. His ivory-gloved hands wring stringently against the steering wheel and he imagines instead, his palms enclosed around Bill Denbrough's soft, pink throat. He can practically feel the boy's pulse thrumming against his grip, rising desperately in a futile skirmish for air. He contemplates squeezing the life out of him, finishing the job this time, and listening to his oesophagus collapse with a brash  _POP!_ His bones splintering like brittle autumn leaves beneath Robert's firm hands.

It'd be a beautiful sight, no doubt, but certainly not enough to satisfy him.

He's always relished in the opportunity to reign in an obstreperous little brat and show him whose boss, but Bill Denbrough is a special brand to come by—audacious and insolent—rare to find in a boy his age. Robert was made to feel very undignified by his antics in the cellar, and he can't have that becoming a habit now, can he?

_Oh no!_

He narrows his eyes out the windshield, his teeth gnash and his lips curl up into a red-lipped scowl. Billy boy deserves far worse than the luxury of a swift death. He promised the boy something special and has every intention of making good on that promise. He'll deliver a punishment with a lasting impression.

_You bet he will!_

He carry's the memory of their first time with him like a badge of honour, wanting nothing more than to relive the pure, unadulterated pleasure he'd felt when he first dominated the boy. 

Tonight will be even better—he'll strike down a white-knight. Guilt is an inky blackness that will swallow Bill Denbrough whole. Devoid of hope, he imagines the boy collapsing to his knees, barely clinging to his sanity. Even the Losers wont have the power to save him from a despair far worse than death. What Robert has planned, it will break Billy, once and for all. 

…

He arrives and pulls the van to halt beside the curb. When he peers out the window a beautiful two-story home, with green paneling and white cornicing stands before him. A high-pillar porch, once an escape for a happy family to sit and enjoy each other's company, is now completely void. Robert smirks when he sees the curtains are drawn for all four windows. He keeps a close eye on all the families of his victims. He knows the Denbrough's are home, but their unperceivable, like shadows in the darkness. Sharon Denbrough is likely still in bed, sleeping her days away, pathetically dragging her feet to the kitchen only when she has to. Zack Denbrough is in his garage—escaping into his work, drawing up blue prints and making sense of puzzles, everywhere but where it matters.

The absence of their eldest son has weighed heavily on the family. They've separated themselves, not just from those in the neighborhood, but also from each other.

It makes what he's about to do that much easier.

A large oak tree with a rope swing is rooted in the front yard. The seat sways just barely, rocked slowly, back and forth by two small, sneaker-clad feet that graze gingerly over tall tuffs of six-week-old, unmowed grass. A small boy sits alone. Head hung low, and mouth turned down into a permanent mope. His fallen gaze is focused on something in his hands. He toys with it, gingerly turning it over in his small palms. It's his favourite thing in the whole wide world—a paper boat.

But he's never sailed it. Not once. They were supposed to do that together.

Robert Gray giggles wickedly to himself.  _Such a lonely...lonely little boy._ "Don't pout Georgie Denbrough. Pennywise will keep you company."


	6. Bill: A Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, I really have no excuse besides suffering extreme writers block but I hope this chapter makes up for that! I also wanted to give poor Bill a break from all the whump, seeing as how things are going to get really bad after this chapter. I hope that's okay with everyone! Anyways, here you all go. 
> 
> WARNING: Very brief descriptions of rape. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story! I appreciate all of you so much. Also. thank you for any comments! They're seriously my happy drug haha xoxo

_A spectre of dewy sunlight feathers the air around him softening his dream at the edges—but he can see passed the gauzy mist that dusts his tan skin to notice he's at the quarry with Ben. They sit on an outcrop. The stone is hot beneath his thighs. The water—it laps so garishly below them. Bill almost feels like this is real._

_Ben has a book in his lap and flips briskly through the delicate pages. The cover is vinyl bound and embossed with gold numbers—what looks to be a date. The book is old and worn at the spine where the fabric is splintering. No good for Ben, who’s allergic to the dust lurking between the folios of old books. It's a big hindrance for him seeing how he spends so much time at the public library._

_On more than one occasion, Bill has had to circumnavigate his way through the labyrinth of books, hoping to drag Ben away for some fun and fresh air, because there's nothing a few scraped knees and bruised elbows wouldn't fix. Often, he'd find Ben sitting stoically between the stacks; his face buried in book, with his eyes swollen and teary stained beyond belief. Almost exactly as he looks now—completely transfixed._

_"Sss-so..." Bill strikes up, daring to break his focus, "How's it going, th-then?"_

_Ben's gaze is still darting between the words on the pages. He doesn't look up, but says; "I know we're bound to find something soon." He sounds so obstinately sure of himself, "a matter of time, is all."_

_Bill watches him; troubled by the way Ben is gripping the book, so tightly the skin on his knuckles is turning white. He reaches over, drops his palm atop Ben's knee like he's pressing pause. "Why don't you give it a rrr-rest, for a while." Ben looks up and the tension passes between them, "Cu-come on Ben, you can't keep going la-like this."_

_"Don't stress over me," Ben refutes. He pushes Bill's hand away and goes on reading with those puffy eyes Bill knows so well._

_"How ca-can I nu-not?"_

_Ben actually scoffs, seeming beyond irritated with him. "You're unbelievable," he tells Bill, "Always so stubborn, you know that Denbrough?" He looks at Bill and points, matter-of-factly, "You're worrying bout' me, meanwhile our friends are the ones who really need you. Keep them safe, that's your job. So please, let me do mine."_

_"I know th-that," Bill defends. "It's just you're my fff-frr-friend too…" he says, because he can't let this go, "And I'm ta-telling you it won't change anything if you take a bu-break."_

_"This isn't just another study project, you know. I'm over here, trying to solve a mystery...your mystery actually. So please, just hush."_

_Bill sighs. He really doesn't understand this guilt he's feeling. Logically he aware, none of this is actually happening. He's not really here, spending the afternoon with his best friend at the quarry. And Ben isn't sitting beside him, torturously coaming through every cold case about missing children in the Derry public archives and desperately searching for any links to his missing friends._

_But there's still this unbearable, sinking feeling in Bill's chest, like he senses deep down this is exactly what Ben is doing, because, he's known Ben practically his whole life. So he's experience first hand how stalwart and resourceful Ben can be when he puts his mind to something. He's got this innately investigative nature and paired with his unbending loyalty, there's not doubt Ben has saddled this case—determined to not fail the forgotten Losers like the police have._

_So he can't help but worry, because Ben is likely running himself ragged seeking all these answers Bill fears, might be better off buried._

_Bill needs a distraction; he thinks Ben could use one too. Swallowing the anxiousness inside him, he makes a request, "Can you tell mmm-me about th-them?"_

_Ben pauses mid-page-turn, and turns slowly to Bill with an uncertain sidelong glance. "Is that a good idea?" Ben asks, "It might upset you."_

_It's Bill's turn to be determined. He looks hard at Ben, unflinching and says "I can handle it." Though if he's being honest, the idea of discussing his family utterly terrifies him to no end. He doesn't want to picture them grieving over him. He knows Ben's probably right, this will only serve to bring him more hurt, but he's willing to play recklessly with his emotions; desperate for any semblance of that bygone time before Robert totally debased his life._

_"Please Ben," Bill crosses his legs, turning to face his friend with wide, beseeching eyes, "I really need this."_

_Ben bites his lips still looking doubtful, but nods. He closes his book—a small victory for Bill, and sets it aside. He leans back on his palms and purposefully asks, "Who first?_

_"Okay, my parents."_

_Ben scratches the back of his neck, seeming a little nervous. "There's not a whole lot to tell. I mean, you're dad's working a lot. You're mom, she took some time off from the piano lessons...but their umm...doing okay, I guess."_

_Bill's not convinced. He tilts his head and raises a brow, "Don't bu-bullshit me Ben. Just be sss-straight."_

_"Fine." Ben answers meekly, "Sad. I'm talking all the time sad."_

_"Oh," Bill nods slowly, feeling a little sick now and regretting having pressed. "But are they like, completely fff-falling apart?"_

_Ben swallows, and nods sadly, "I don’t think you can blame them."_

_Actually, yes he can, because his parents marriage had been wrought with issues even long before he went missing. They fought all the time behind closed doors after assuming their sons were asleep. And Bill had tried so hard to shield Georgie from the worst of it, because his little brother didn't deserve that kind of flack. He still remembers all those times Georgie climbed into his bed—trembling like a tiny leaf—and how Bill would hold him and wrap Georgie protectively in his arms, whispering stories in his ears until he was lulled to sleep._

_Now Bill wishes, they’d somehow use his disappearance as an impetus for change—just come together and bury their shit long enough to remember they still have another son relying on them to step up. But he suspects it’s only served to exacerbate the rift between them; and without him there, he can't stand the idea of his little brother probably bearing the weight of their crumbling family all alone. That's too much burden for his little shoulders to bear._

_Bill inhales a shaky breath. He fights against the upsurge of emotion and asks about Georgie next._

_Ben is honest this time, "He's sad too. But, in different sort of way...more lost I guess. It's like he doesn't knows how to be without you."_

_Bill's eyes are wet, threatening tears as he processes Ben's words and suddenly..._

_..._

_...he's gazing through a pellucid curtain, like staring into a memory within a dream. They lay on his bed together, Georgie with his head snuggled into the crook of Bill's elbow, and Bill with his arm wrapped safely around him. Pinched between his fingers is an issue of 'The Amazing Spider-Man' being shared between them._

_Georgie always loved when Bill made the extra effort to act out the characters, so Bill made sure to plaster on his best, high-pitch Mysterio impression. "You'll never escape me Spider-Man!" For some reason when he read to Georgie, Bill never stuttered._

_Georgie, rosy cheeked and giggling rolled around the mattress, holding his stomach. It took a moment for him to calm down and he looked at Bill, total adoration in his eyes. "You do the best voices Billy."_

_Bill smiled, "That one's not sss-so hard, he's kinda like a whiny Alvin the ch-chipmunk."_

_Georgie laughed again, but the sound of something slamming in the hallways and his father's brash yell interrupted them. "I'm at my whits end here Sharon!"_

_Georgie jumped in his arms, staring wide-eyed at Bill's closed door. He looked scared. Bill wasn't about to let him settle into that feeling for long, so he tucked Georgie closer to him and asked, "Sss-so if you could be any sss-super hero in the world, who'd you be?"_

_Georgie took the bait, seeming to forget for the moment about his parents fighting. He turned to Bill and smiled wide, "Batman no question!"_

_"No question eh?"_

_"Yeah! He's got all these cool weapons and he doesn't need any powers to kick the Jokers ass!"_

_"Hey!' He pretended to scold, but he couldn't help but chuckle a little, "Cu-come on, lu-language Georgie."_

_"But Richie swears all the time!"_

_"Dear God, please du-don't go taking your cu-cues from Rrr-Richie."_

_Georgie pouted, crossing his arms and Bill smirked, knowing his mood wouldn't last long. He nudged him playfully and asked, "Who'd I be, then?"_

_Georgie sat up excitedly—yeah, that didn't last long at all—and he grinned proudly at Bill, "You'd be Superman!"_

_"Underwear outside mmm-my tights, nu-no thanks."_

_Georgie rolled his eyes looking comically annoyed, "No, like you're totally indestructible! Nothing can hurt you Billy."_

_"Nu-no one is indestructible Georgie, even Sss-superman has his krr-kryptonite."_

_"You are though! You're the strongest person I know!"_

_Bill sighed, seeming no sense in debating and instead, decided to play along, "I could dig the fff-flying part, I guess."_

_"I'd totally fly to Disney Land! Where would you go, Billy?"_

_"Don't know..." Bill shrugged, "probably somewhere fff-far away from here."_

_A panic stricken expression was suddenly painted on Georgie's face. He shook his head like he wasn't actually hearing this, and scooted closer to Bill seeming frenzied, "You don't actually mean that Billy!"_

_Bill furrowed his brows, sitting up worried, "Georgie what's wrong?"_

_Georgie's looked like he might cry, "You wouldn't just...just...leave forever right?"_

_"What, no th-that's not what I mmm-meant—"_

_"I don't want you gone."_

_"Hey, hey...Georgie, it's ju-just a game we're playing."_

_"You can't just disappear like that Bill. We're a team."_

_"Georgie, I know we are. I'm nu-not going anywhere, okay?" He pulled his brother into a hug, "Wherever I go, you go."_

_..._

_Ben is looking at him concerned but Bill simply wipes the tears away with the back of his hand. When he's ready, he looks up resolutely. "Georgie needs the Losers more than ever." Bill is staring at Ben, eyes dire and supplicating, "You'll help him, won't you? You and Bev and Mike, you'll make sure he gets passed all this and forgets about me."_

_"Forgets you?" Ben’s expression twists with puzzlement, his brows furrowed in the middle._

_" Ben, Georgie can't hold onto these fff-false hopes, like I'm actually coming home. The longer he believes th-that to be true, the worse off he's going to get.”_

_"But, you are coming home Bill…"_

_"Nu-no…I'm not."_

_Ben shakes his head, incredulous, "Where is this even coming from?"_

_Bill swallows, sucking up the courage to explain himself, "Lu-listen, everything th-that’s happened, it’s all my fff-fault..."_

_"Bill how can you say that, of course it’s not—"_

_"It all started because of mmm-me Ben, because Robert wanted mmm-me!"_

_"You can't know that for sure!"_

_But he does. Ever since that night when Pennywise first laid eyes on him at the party, lancing into his very soul with that hungry and desirous gaze, Bill has known he was the target._

_The others; they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's because of him that they're in this mess._

_And he thinks on that time when Robert was on a particularly nasty power trip, biting into Bill shoulder and pulling his hair with a vice-like grip, ordering Bill to beg for his cock. Bill had mustered all the resistance inside him, no matter how much pressure Robert would exert. It angered Robert to no end. Even when the man fucked into him, viciously and with absolutely no preparation to stop Bill from screaming his throat bloody—but Bill naively believed anything was better than giving Robert that kind of satisfaction._

_Then…the next night, when he came back for more, it wasn't just Bill he wanted anymore. It was Richie. And Bill had known right then and there, that he fucked up—because now his friends were fair game. If Robert was seeking retribution against Bill, then he found it in the Losers._

_Richie. Eddie. Stan. They'll keep being hurt because of him—unimaginatively and repeatedly—for simply being his friends._

_So it's up to Bill to do right by them; which means he’s going to end what’s happening in the same way it began; between him Robert. This whole thing has always been about them._

_And when the time comes, Bill is going to have to sacrifice something he knows Robert undoubtedly wants from him._

_…_

_“Pu-please listen Ben, the others, they still need you…bu-butt I’ve accepted I'm not coming out of this with them. Not if I have to stop him.”_

_“I don’t understand—_

_He's gazing sombrely at this vision of his best friend, hoping beyond hope that the real Ben is somehow interconnected, listening and heeding his words—because, he needs Ben to do this one last thing for him._

_"Just pu-pu-promise me you'll watch out for Georgie, okay? That you’ll protect him and you won't lu-let this consume his life."_

_"Bill—_

_"Promise me Ben!" They're both surprised by his outburst. Bill is breathing hard, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. "I nu-need to know he'll be ta-taken care of," he says, sounding desperate, "That's he-he's going to grr-grow up and put all th-this crap behind him…please Ben."_

_"Bill," Ben repeats softly, "I promise we'll take care of Georgie. There's no question about that."_

_Bill nods, letting out a relieved breath. "Thank you," he rasps gratefully, because that all he needed to hear._

_There's a beat of silence between them before Bill speaks again. He takes another leap, and whispers nervously, "I'm so sss-sorry for our fight."_

_Bill is aware the real Ben may never hear these words himself, but there's a small consolation knowing, he could at least say them out loud, to another version of Ben, somewhere._

_Ben nods, toying with a thread on his denim shorts, "So am I."_

_"We never mmm-meant to hurt you, Ben."_

_Ben looks a little sad and a little sombre. He says, "...it just sucks, you know?"_

_Bill does know—because, while he could never regret his feelings for Beverly, he wishes that weren't also the reason his friendship with Ben was damaged so terribly._

_They go silent again_

_"She misses you," Ben surprises him by offering._

_Bill perks up, eyes wide and heart beating for a much different reason now, "Yeah?" he smirks._

_"She's not giving up either," Ben says, "She'll keep on waiting."_

_That fleeting happy feeling now alters into something melancholy, "I don't want her to wait. She doesn’t deserve that."_

_Ben chuckles, "It's Beverly, Bill. She's not a force to be reckoned with. You really think anyone's going to sway her otherwise?"_

_Bill frowns, glaring at his hands. He's angry with himself, because he doesn't want that kind of life for anyone he loves—always wondering. Ben reaches over take Bill's hand, seeming to sense the distress lancing through him._

_"I don't care what you say." Ben says, pulling him in, and wrapping his arms around Bill. "However long it takes, we're bringing you guys home...all of you."_

_Ben hugs him tight and Bill allows himself to become lost in the moment, no matter how deceptive it may be. He's not ready to go back. So instead, he listens to the song of imagined birds, perching on the branches close by. He admires the brilliant bed of water and how it laps in glimmering crystal surfs. He commits Ben's touch to memory, the phantom warmth of it because he's been destitute of this feeling for so long and he needs to remember what it's liked to be held by someone who loves him._

_Bill buries his face into Ben's shoulder, tears leaking from his eyes. "It's won't be so easy," he whispers shakily, "Robert…he'll never let me go, Ben."_

_"He won't have a choice," Ben answers vehemently, "Just hold on Bill. The Losers are coming, and then, he doesn't stand a chance against all of us...together."_

_They stay like that for some time._

_Being Peaceful._

_Hopeful._

_Dreaming._

_Bill keeps dreaming...and dreaming...and dreaming...until that awful moment when he isn't._

...

Reality is the worst kind of nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you guys to know the next chapter is probably going to be the worst it's ever going to get. So you can imagine that's a hard thing to write and I'm going to need some time to work on it, so I hope you'll all bear with me and be patient. I'm actually very scared for Bill at this point, and I want to warn everyone that after this chapter...things might not be looking so good. 
> 
> I may have been crying and listening to this song on repeat while writing this chapter lol: https://open.spotify.com/track/2XGm6QBvarwrvp1pivvhty
> 
> Thanks again friends! If you have time to leave a comment, please do! Till next time, xoxo
> 
> P.S You should also expect some Stenbrough in the next chapter! ;-)


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